


Your Mouth Like the Best Wine

by HereToFinish



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hidden Relationships, Love Triangle, Pregnancy Scares, mention of cheating, porn with an angsty af plot, sexually explicit, slight non con, this is a telenovela so here's your warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereToFinish/pseuds/HereToFinish
Summary: Makoto has a hard time dealing with the heartbreak of unrequited love. When Ren chose Kasumi on Valentine's Day, she did her best to move on and be happy for her friends. She was even hoping college would help her forget about her crush, but things don't go according to plan when she meets Ren's uncanny lookalike. [Loosely inspired by the doujin, Ai no Kyouzou or "Mirror Image"]
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Niijima Makoto/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 24
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back to finish this fic, but otherwise my other works won't be reuploaded. Thanks again for those who read my works and supported me all the way.

  


Makoto never had a particular aversion to alcohol, but it never really crossed her mind as a beverage of choice either. Yet in the crowded apartment, dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights and the sickly pallor of aging plaster, she suddenly had a hankering for it. It was just one beer. What harm could one sip of one beer do?

“You new here?” 

A well-dressed young man, complete with red solo cup in hand, sidled up to her shadowy corner of the apartment. Every once in a while, the cheap red and blue lighting of a distant lava lamp fell like multi-colored panes on the strange faces around her. His was no exception. 

“Oh, not really. I- um, I’m a first year,” she answered timidly.

Makoto took care to brush back a lock of hair, convinced that there was no harm in being superfluous when it came to self-presentation. And when she saw a smirk creep up on his face, all she could do was distract herself with another sip of her beer. The drink flowed stale and smoky in her mouth, but it was preferable to overthinking how awkward she might have been, or how deeply she had been blushing.

“Cool…” he nudged the beer forward as a gesture and moved his gaze elsewhere, as if trying not to look too interested in their conversation altogether. But he kept on that crooked smile, almost saying (without speaking) that he caught the way her feet shifted to one side; and that he was even cognizant of the unsubtle way she stole a glance or two.

“I’m a second year,” he continued, still focusing on some other side of the room. “You might have seen me at the library?”

The ambient music grew into a palpable thrumming in her chest. What had been a slow, airy indie pop song deepened into something more. Perhaps it was the change in the beat, or the subtle modulation of the key, but Makoto felt something click then. Not big enough to be a revelation, but not insignificant enough to be ignored. For the first time since he had approached her, Makoto mustered the courage to look him straight in the eye.

“You-...” she squeaked out, almost spilling her drink from the violent swishing of her hand, “you’re the person who helped me the other day!”

The young man let out a quiet laugh, and that wry grin of his softened. He was as Makoto remembered: unassuming, frizzy-haired, and brimming with the sort of mystery one would expect from someone with a quiet demeanor. Most of all, Makoto thought with a bite of her lip, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Ren.

It was an embarrassing memory, actually - now that she thought more on it. She had been studying in the carrels reserved specifically for more senior students and postgrad researchers. Makoto had never been much of a thrill-seeker, but she _has_ broken her own fair share of rules before. Crossing into reserved spaces that were largely empty and abandoned was harmless in comparison. So she thought little of it, carrying an inordinate amount of books along with a flimsily sealed thermos of hot coffee. 

“ _I'_ _m sorry!”_ came her whirlwind apology when the plan inevitably failed.

He had been wearing an apron then, and the hot coffee fell all over his book cart. No doubt, she had incurred quite a financial blow on the university’s resources. 

_“Oh don’t sweat it_ ,” he had said, a little too casually. The library worker was quick on his feet, immediately padding the books with a handkerchief and separating the dry ones from the wet ones.

 _“I’m_ so _sorry,”_ Makoto repeated in her panic, falling to her knees in an attempt to fix the maelstrom of scattered books. 

_“Nah, really it’s fine. A coffee stain or two won’t hurt,”_ he had reassured her. 

It was like a scene stolen straight from some cheesy TV drama. He too fell on his knees, gathering what pages of her homework he could. Makoto made some progress in her department, but somehow her pile got mixed into his. Was it such a surprise, then, that their fingers brushed up on the spine of the same book? A tattered, coffee-stained tome about legal philosophy and the history of Japanese criminal law… The contents of the book didn’t matter in the end. 

That day, Makoto had felt a faint vertiginous rush. Her skin paled when she looked into those steely grey eyes for the first time (though not quite), and her limbs froze stiff when she saw the uncouth bramble that was his dark hair.

“ _R-Ren?!”_ she hiccuped audibly.

The library worker looked at her, puzzled.

_“Pardon?”_

_“Nevermind…”_

He wasn’t Ren, after all. He looked slightly different. He was of a larger frame, and his face wider set though with a less pronounced jaw. He also hadn’t worn glasses, and there was something less cavalier about the way he smiled.

 _“I-... I’m sorry,”_ she said, after her pause lingered a little too long. “ _I have to go.”_

Weeks must have passed since then. She hadn’t even _dared_ another visit to the library, lest she committed yet another catastrophic blunder. 

“That’s me,” the young man replied, immediately pulling Makoto back to the present. “Hopefully you’ve been a little more careful with your coffee since?”

How strange.

Her heart squeezed, and her cheeks glowed a rosy tinge. Makoto immediately receded into herself. She had been teased like this before, and she was starting to wonder if falling into these habits - despite her best efforts - was proper form for someone trying to move on.

“I am _really_ sorry for that,” Makoto sighed out, lowering her gaze from a mix of both shame and wary suspicion. “I’m normally more careful.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled with a lackadaisical shrug of his shoulder. “The grad students who use those books could probably do with a pick-me-up in the middle of their reading.”

Then it happened - a soft and muted laugh. Makoto’s hand shot up to fan over her pursed lips in a weak attempt to conceal that trace of laughter. Much like Ren, this man knew how to diffuse her embarrassment through some embarrassingly cheesy joke, all the while refusing to let her off the hook completely. The comparisons couldn’t be helped, especially when the telltale pummeling of her heart against her chest seemed to replay much of her third year in high school. 

Her red eyes drifted haplessly onto him, watching for the smooth features of his face in careful examination.

“Either way,” she hastily tacked on once their chortles had subsided, “thank you for your help. I can only imagine how much trouble I would have had if I ran into someone else.”

Sincere as she was, the apology somehow elicited yet another laugh from the stranger. Yet that didn’t stop him from casting an observant look or two at his new friend, casually sipping from his beer as he watched her polite smile fade into something a little more irked.

“I mean it,” she insisted, not appreciating being the unintentional butt end of a joke. However much he resembled Ren, her former Phantom Thief leader would never deride her like that.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” he offered, pausing to throw back the remaining contents of his beer, “I’m glad you ran into me too.”

There it was again.

A heart squeeze.

He said it off hand, like he was just commenting on the weather. 

But Makoto took it quite differently. Her free hand traveled to her chest, clutching tightly as its inner thrashing became unbearable. She was thankful that the nearby lava lamp had switched to a red hue, for now she could at least have an excuse (poor as it might be) for her pinker complexion.

A silence fell over them. It was needlessly awkward and needlessly prolonged. Makoto concentrated on finishing her beer, which much to her dismay was leaving her more and more flush with excitement. The boy, on the other hand, carried himself with a slight bounce to his posture, as if he was pretending to go along with the music blaring around them.

“Hey,” he started up again when he noticed her beer had long ago been drained of its contents, “what’s your name?”

It was a strange pick-up line, to say the least, but Makoto had no reason to deny him the information.

“Niijima… Niijima Makoto,” she offered sheepishly. 

“Cool,” he said, nodding along, “My name’s Akira… Well, I guess Kurusu Akira, but you can call me Akira.”

“You guess?” she parroted with a raised brow. Makoto was heady with newfound courage, and she would be lying if she denied finding this “Kurusu Akira” intriguing. 

Akira chuckled to himself - a habit of his, it seemed. But his shoulders rolled with that familiarity of welcome defeat. “Call me whatever you want,” he added.

It was a throw-away line, like many of the words he had spoken that night. But Makoto found herself feeling faint of breath. The music around them got louder, and the crowd grew larger. The din was becoming deafening, and the air was increasingly more stifling.

“Careful,” she murmured, not without a crestfallen gaze, “I might just do that.”

Akira turned to her, giving that same puzzled look he had given her when she first mistook him for Amamiya Ren. His mouth opened, brimming with something to say, but Akira immediately bit down and thought the better of it. This Niijima Makoto didn’t look too used to parties, and cute as she was, she still seemed more awkward than she was cared to admit. The empty can of beer in her hand did her no favors either, and the swaying of her otherwise stiff posture showed the telltale signs of her first drink.

“Hey,” he started again, noticing that she became more reticent with each passing moment, “wanna go someplace quieter? I know the rooftop’s open.”

Makoto’s eyes widened with the suggestion. She felt like she had fallen into a trance, unaware how many seconds had passed since their conversation was hit with that strange lull. Akira waited patiently for her answer, neither earnest nor indifferent in his proposition. 

“Come on,” he said, offering his hand, “it’s kind of crowded, and I don’t want you to get lost.”

The shortness of her breath wasn’t helping. Makoto nearly stumbled in place. It couldn’t have been the one beer. She was far too dazed, far too lethargic. The bassline of the music around her was really deafening.

“Hey, Mako-chan, you okay?”

_Mako-chan?_

She thoughtlessly grabbed hold of his hand, weaving tightened fingers around his,

 _He never called me that_.

Akira gave her hand a tug, and the crowd around them had parted. Weaving through the bodies in the suddenly dark room, Makoto could have sworn she was floating.

* * *

Ren broke Makoto’s heart last Valentine’s Day. She wanted to give him a box of homemade chocolate truffles, a mix of dark and white that she knew he appreciated through his preference for bittersweet roasts of coffee. 

True enough, “heartbreak” was probably hyperbolic, given that Ren had never pretended to be more than friends with her. However many extra hours they had spent being de facto leaders of the notorious Phantom Thieves, it didn’t lead any closer to his heart. For on Valentine’s Day, on her way to visit him at Leblanc, he was already busy - hands locked in romantic gesture - spending the holiday with the then first-year and ever-elusive Yoshizawa Kasumi. 

Makoto settled instead to leave the box of chocolates in the Sakura household’s mailbox, addressed in a friendlier and more platonic manner to Ren.

Months later, in her first year of college, Makoto hadn’t successfully forgotten this rather tragic episode in her non-existent dating life. A hapless crush was silly in the grand scheme of things. Maybe, she would think to herself on those lonesome nights when she concentrated on her work, it was best to plaster on a smile and be happy for her friends.

But fate had other things in store, for the wound she so desperately tried to heal and forget reopened so serendipitously. All it took was one night on a rooftop, and her skin felt the goosebumps of faintly remembered scars. 

Kurusu Akira was a charming young man too, but the more time she spent with him, the more she realized he wasn’t quite Ren. The resemblance was just that - similarities that didn’t amount to much in the bigger picture.

If her high school friends met him, they would surely jump to the wrong conclusions. Ann, Eiko, and Haru were privy to her feelings about Ren. It wouldn’t do to introduce Akira. No, they wouldn’t understand. They would think she was in denial, and that she was letting the bitterness of unrequited love get to her. 

So when, that evening, Akira stole a kiss under the faint moonlight, Makoto wondered about the many misconceptions and misapprehensions that would besiege her if she let this little rendezvous known. Besides, how could she explain to them what exactly made him different? He might have looked like Ren, but Ren surely wouldn’t have kissed at all like the way Akira kissed her.

Akira had a hunger to him - one that forcefully parted her mouth for something deeper. She still recalled how his hand found its way around the curve of her waist, bunching up the fabric of her light sweater.

“You’re shivering,” he had said when they parted for desperate breaths.

“I left my jacket downstairs,” she lied. She hadn’t brought a jacket that night.

It was an unusually cool evening in May. They were both huddled close against the rooftop door, and Makoto’s back was pinned against the cold slab of metal prickling the back of her arms.

“That’s okay,” he said, donning once more the crooked smile. 

His breathing was rough and somewhat hitched. Makoto could feel the hot press of its warmth, and she could smell the faint trace of the beer he drank. His mouth tasted like it too. Smoky, bitter, and yet all the while delicious. Before she knew it, her lips were already parted for seconds, and Akira didn’t hesitate at all to go for the opening. The hand that once shied short of her waist traveled lower, tracing a line down from the flat of her stomach to her hips. 

Makoto forgot she had put on a mini-skirt at the recommendation of her roommate. Akira’s long and spindly fingers were quick to make this discovery.

Perhaps he had gotten bored of her mouth, or maybe - for a first-time kisser - Makoto wasn’t that great at making out, but Akira learned to move on. He kissed with the teasing caress of his tongue before leaving her gasping, even shorter of breath than when they had been in that crowded apartment. He busied himself instead with nuzzling the corner of her lips before biting down in soft, muted kisses to her chin. 

“W-wait,” she murmured in a breathy sort of laugh. 

“Mako-chan,” he whispered, ignoring her plea, “have you been with anyone before?”

His hand hiked up her skirt and fiddled with the elastic seam of her tights. 

Makoto’s heart beat wildly against her chest. Her mind was caught between the airy haze of his intoxicating kiss and the glaring alarm bells of a boy who knew too well what he was doing. 

“No,” she mumbled, “I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

She couldn’t quite hide how flummoxed she was, especially when in response, he did nothing but smile as if her answer had amused him. 

“That’s okay,” he said, his mouth pressing further down her neck.

Makoto had no idea what “slow” meant. It was subjective, apparently, for Akira had no qualms with his continued exploration. She let out a sharp gasp when she felt his finger pull against the lace of her underwear. Her lower half pulled taut with the pressure of his hand digging into her tights, and from there Makoto drew the line.

“Wait, stop!” she repeated, pressing her hands against his chest. Her ears were absolutely red, less from being a blushing romantic falling for hapless tricks and more from the wild panic of horror stories beginning to creep in. “You’re going too fast.”

Tension snapped, and the foggy daydream the two were lost in vanished with the chilling breeze that had swept the rooftop.

Akira stopped in his tracks, withdrawing his hand and taking a small step back.

“Sorry,” he coughed out as he gulped audibly, “I didn’t mean-...”

“No, I-...” she cut in, rushing to fix her skirt and other signs of heady fumbling on her outfit. “Actually, I have to go-”

“Mako-chan, I’m sorry. I thought-”

He reached out to touch her again, letting a hand fall softly on her shoulder.

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped as she hurriedly brushed his hand away. 

Makoto gathered herself, taking a moment to recollect as she paced around, freeing herself from his embrace. But the sound of her voice left a hollow echo in the cityscape. Akira, who had been brazen and more talkative than she was throughout the evening, looked somewhat wounded and timid after such a harsh rejection.

She stopped short of the door. “Um... it was nice meeting you, Akira-kun,” she offered by way of a halfhearted truce. She hadn’t been lying, actually. There was simply a tightness in her chest and a gnawing wad in her throat.

Something was wrong.

Terribly and horrifically wrong.

Makoto turned to leave. Perhaps it was better to leave things in the past, after all.

“Is it okay if I see you again?”

His question stopped her dead in her tracks.

“I’ll make it right next time,” he added when she didn’t answer immediately.

Makoto’s hand hovered over the doorknob. 

Her outstretched fingers trembled with hesitation. 

What did he mean - _make it right_? 

Her lips curled to a frown. Her teeth punctured the softened bit of flesh as she mulled over her answer.

She hadn’t the slightest idea what to say or even how to feel. The faint taste of beer and smoke was still in her mouth. They were things that should be bitter; things she should hate. But Akira wasn’t at all like Ren, and the more she compared them, the more she found herself drawn to a different sort of answer.

* * *

The former Phantom Thieves had a group chat. Once, it was used for recon and team planning, but in the halcyon days of their victory, it increasingly became more of a space to reminisce and to keep in touch. Their texts were less frequent, but they were always open to invitations for coincidental hangouts or, more often than not, Futaba’s proud array of memes.

As months had passed them by, the members texted less and less. Some even less than others. When the year turned to the cooler month of September, Makoto had practically been non-existent. So were Ren and Kasumi, who had moved on to a more public presence on social media as they identified less with their surreal past as Phantom Thieves and more as an infatuated couple.

One evening, Ann had texted a question aimed specifically (but not _too_ specifically) at Makoto, mentioning that she and Ryuji would be near her university for the weekend. 

Unfortunately, Makoto had missed that text. Her phone was on silent, neglecting to vibrate as it sat sullenly on the bedside table of Akira’s apartment bedroom. 

The two had kept in touch all the while, going out sporadically on dates. Akira never probed the question of how steady they were going, neither did Makoto bother to clarify. As far as either of them knew, neither were in a relationship or considered “taken,” but it didn’t stop them from seeing each other nonetheless, especially in the dead of night.

“Does it hurt?”

The bed rocked with a steady rhythm. Akira had a cozy, twin-sized bed in his hovel of an apartment, but it didn’t seem to bother Makoto - used to luxurious full-sized beds as she was.

“No…” she murmured through the bite of her lip. Her hands pitched steadily into the firm spring mattress as she bent over the edge of the bed. She felt the flat of Akira’s stomach on the small of her back. His hands steadied themselves on her waist. He stood firmly as he pumped into her with hitched breaths and barely stifled moans. Makoto winced with each thrust of his hips, pressing the side of her face against the pillow he had laid down for her.

With her eyes pinched shut, she could hear all too vividly the sound of his hips slapping against her ass, plunging into her with a greedy sort of pace. 

Makoto had done her research. She had played, so to speak, with Akira often enough. But those playful tussles in abandoned corners in the library or in not-so-private trysts in his car parked in a parking garage, didn’t amount to much. Still, she wasn't unaware of how hungry his bruising kisses had become, or how more and more articles of clothing fell by the wayside with each random hook-up. It was time to reward him with his patience, she thought. Thankfully, he was already prepared with condoms and didn’t need much help from her in that department. 

“Mako-chan, you feel amazing,” he whispered, lowering himself close so his breaths fell heavy on the back of her neck. 

She couldn’t see him, not when he was busy enough rutting behind her. But she could hear the smile in his words - a soft yet wry smile that he had worn ever since they had first met. Makoto knew she didn’t love Akira, or that she wasn’t particularly in love with him, but she yearned for that smile nevertheless. 

“Akira,” she mewled his name, guiding his hand from her waist over to her breasts. She felt him get harder inside her as his fingers brushed over her stiffened nipples.

 _That_ seemed to encourage him, for he fucked her harder than when they started. The bed was banging against the wall in quicker and more forceful thuds.

Makoto was well aware that she was hardly the only girl Akira had been seeing. It came with the territory, especially when, by word of mouth, she had come to know his reputation as something of a player around campus. Yet he had his own set of affable charms, especially for someone so notoriously labeled as a womanizer. Makoto knew and played at not knowing, keeping him at arm's length while sharing all her firsts with him.

Still, he was was so convincing, even as he planted soft kisses along the ridges of her spine; and as he cupped her breasts in a firmer and heathenish grip. He made love to her even as he fucked her, rolling his hips gently before filling himself with the delightful squeeze of her muscles around him. 

“I love you,” he whispered, pinching his eyes shut as breaths grew into louder and more desperate panting.

For the first time that night, Makoto smiled. She smiled with half-closed eyes, and a face smoothed with blissful forgetting. 

“I know,” she whispered back, raising herself up so her back pressed against the breadth of his chest. She relished the feel of him growing inside her, drowning in the push and pull of him as she fought back lilting murmurs and listless pleas for even more _._

Her muscles clamped from the growing pressure, and Akira had no choice but to lift one of her thighs with his free hand, parting her so she sank and melted with him on edge of the bed.

Akira held onto her, pushing his erection deeper as he felt the shudder of his climax roll through his limbs.

“I’m coming.”

“Come inside me, Akira,” she begged, smiling coyly when he quickened to forceful bursts. She had learned that too. Even if he was her first, she wasn’t going to come empty-handed. 

The sound of their skin slapping violently filled the apartment, and Akira moaned into the back of her hair, pistoning in slower yet deeper thrusts as he came.

“I love you,” he repeated, melting on top of her as they lay numb and lifeless on the edge of the bed.

Makoto knew better than to entertain his repeated mantra.

Instead, she kept on the knowing smile, turning and pushing him to get up before his legs were even ready to carry his weight.

“I mean it,” he insisted. His hand held onto her bare shoulder, stopping her from moving away.

Makoto didn’t answer him. Instead she offered a kiss, at once consolatory and apologetic. She believed that _he_ believed he meant it. But what was unrequited love in the grand scheme of things?

Usually, it was Akira who pull her into a greedy kiss, initiating where Makoto was reticent.

But that evening, something else entirely had awakened in Makoto. She sat up, inching to the center of the bed while pulling Akira with her through soft trails of kisses. The two found themselves properly entangled, lost in the sheets that Makoto came to know so well.

The strain of orgasm eventually caught up to him, and the once heated kisses dissipated until they fell like slow and hot breaths against her cheek. Akira nearly collapsed on top of her, embracing her and burying his face into the nape of her neck.

“I want to meet your friends,” he said out of the blue. His words were half-lost in the murmurs of encroaching sleep. 

“My friends?” she asked amidst a lazily stifled yawn.

Akira rolled off of her, settling instead for a snug place beside her. His bare back brushed against the coarse textures of the plaster walls of his apartment. 

Makoto shifted and turned so her whole frame was wrapped in his larger arms. 

“Yeah, the ones you used to talk about from high school… And your sister, too.”

“This is so sudden,” she said with a bashful chuckle. Makoto closed her eyes, feigning a sleepiness that she knew affected him more than it did her.

“We’ve been dating for five months now,” he muttered, unable to conceal a bitter tremor in his tone. 

Makoto wasn’t stupid. She sensed that bitterness like a pang squeezing through the otherwise pleasant memory of their first time making love. But she chose instead to close her eyes, softly falling into the slower breathing of one lost in the sweet haze of dreams.

She let her arm snake alongside his, draped as it was over her waist. For a while, she was convinced that he was too tired to press the subject any further, and she almost lost herself too in the hypnotic haze of their shared silence.

“Mako-chan, who’s Ren?”

Makoto’s eyes snapped open.

“What?”

She spun around to him, rocking the bed as it screeched against her forceful movements.

“The past few times you slept over, you called out a name… ‘Ren,’” Akira answered candidly. 

“I-...”

Outside, the cityscape of Tokyo was still filled with the hustle and bustle of congested traffic. The bright lights of tall buildings still reached even the small corner window of Akira’s apartment, distant as they were. Normally, Makoto had no problem pushing the raucous din out. In fact, she often slept with ease in Akira’s arms.

But now, it was deafening.

She heard the clash of car horns and metal scratching against metal batter her ears.

“It’s no one,” she settled.

And the noise stopped.

“I must have been having a weird dream. I heard it often happens with stress,” she said with a shrug. 

Makoto didn’t wait for Akira to talk back. She quickly rolled back into her previous position, curling into herself while he spooned her in that half-embrace.

For his part, Akira didn’t push any further. Why would he? He might not have been as bright as Makoto, but he wasn’t stupid either. He sensed the way her muscles tensed when he spoke the name; he knew how elusive and evasive she got when the subject of her social life came up. Her secret was no secret all. She was hiding him.

  



	2. Chapter 2

Akira always thought that Makoto tasted of mangos. Sweet, soft… sometimes warm, sometimes sticky. Each kiss he would leave along her thigh always carried with it traces of honey and the faint remembrance of a spring evening. He relished in the dewy salt of her sweat whenever he probed deeper. His hands wrapped around the width of her legs, moving them further apart all the while flirting with the dangers of her precarious balance.

Makoto whimpered when her knee bucked, slightly falling from the suspension as her middle landed (less gently than she expected) on his face.

He knew that move annoyed her, but he didn’t care. He wanted to taste more of her, and as she hovered over him in a slow, deliberate rhythm, he began to wonder what _he_ tasted like to _her_. Did she know how much he enjoyed hearing her sing moans of pleasure? How much he loved feeling her press against the tip of his nose; how her core deliciously dipped into his mouth for the drink he could never get enough of? 

Akira swelled at the thought of it, aching even more from the untethered yearning of having her mouth wrapped around him. Makoto might have been unnecessarily coy when he first suggested the position to her, but she was nothing if not a fast and eager learner. 

Her head sinfully bobbed up and down. At first, slowly and shyly, but her courage returned with the comfort of habit. The springs of the mattress creaked from the chaotic fumblings of their grinding. 

But not all was paradise. Even _she_ had her own shortcomings. Sweet as she was, loving as she had been, her movements were slow and deliberate. Akira had to stop himself from fucking her mouth, focusing instead on lathing her with the soft caresses of his tongue. 

“Mn!” a moan broke out despite her best efforts. Makoto briefly let go of him, pausing to look over her shoulder.

Akira couldn’t see the listlessness in her deep red eyes; or the flush, rosy hue of her cheeks when finally his mouth and her hips fell in sync. 

“I can’t take it anymore,” she whispered, ashamed and embarrassed at what she was pretending.

Akira smiled, hungrily lapping at her middle even as she tried to stop.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured back in between kisses, nuzzling her skin - sweaty and warm to his touch.

Makoto pouted. Her shoulders began to ache from the burden of having to support her weight without crushing him.

“You.”

She closed her eyes, furled brows taking in the reddened embarrassment of having to say anything at all.

“I want you.”

Not as honest as he wanted, but it was better than what he expected. Akira settled for what he got, and happily tossed her about. Despite herself, Makoto let out a giggle as her body spun with his shifting, and his mattress churned more jagged protests against their restlessness. Their legs traded places with their heads, and soon Makoto found herself face to face with a gaze she tried so hard to elude.

Akira wedged himself between her legs, propping her up to the middle of the bed as they both lay in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. 

“Wait,” she hissed after he unceremoniously entered her, “I’m not-... I’m not on the pill yet.”

It didn’t escape her notice that her eyes were pinched shut. Like in every other time they made love, she made sure never to gaze at him directly. 

“I’ll pull out,” he suggested with a gruff and short breath.

He was much closer than she was - the pain of subdued desire building like a pit at the base of his spine. Akira rutted as hard and fast as he could, finding perverse pleasure in the way she bounced against his flailing rhythm. 

Their bodies were pressed close - her thighs wrapped around his hips. He could feel the wet part of her mouth brush up against the sweat dampened strands of his hair, and the ridge of her jaw bumping fiercely against his temple. 

Much to his surprise, Makoto hardly put up a fight. She held him close when he lost control, and his hips rolled forcefully into her until white heat speared through him, spilling dangerously inside as she moaned with his sharp, stifled gasps for air. 

All Akira could think was how sweet her skin tasted when he bit down on the rounded curve of her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered when all was said and done.

He lay helpless and limp in her arms. The feeling of her leg wrapped around him was too criminal. 

At first she didn’t say anything back. The suspense thickened into a tense and endless second, and Akira thought he’d rather die than face the hurt and frail gleam in her eye.

“It’s okay,” she said instead, leaving him shaking and stunned with surprise. She ran her hand along the back of his head, combing through the messy knots of his thick, dark hair. 

Akira rose from where he lay, looking into her red eyes and watching as the silvery sheen of tears streamed down the curve of her cheek. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“I love you too,” she said.

And he kissed her, no longer wanting to hear any more of what she had to say.

* * *

Makoto busied herself with her phone as she sat, not without impatience, in the cold sterility of the university’s “Women’s Health” clinic. She didn’t bother texting Akira what her plans were, neither did she follow up with him given their recent… mishap. Fortunately, it had been a weekend after high school exams, and Takamaki Ann happened to be on break and available. 

All she needed to text her friend was “I need help,” and the part-time model, full-time high school student rushed to the aid of their former “Queen.” 

It was a surprise, to say the least. Ann hadn’t heard from Makoto in well over two months. If not for Sae casually updating Sojiro on her accomplished younger sister’s vibrant academic career, panic would have set in that _something_ happened. Perhaps something _did_.

“So,” Ann started, awkwardly twirling her hair as she found herself short of distractions, “who is it?”

Makoto looked up in mild surprise. 

“Huh?” she blurted out, her thumb hovering over her phone screen mid-pause.

“You’re here because of a guy right?” Ann continued, averting her gaze and fixing instead on the array of old magazines fanning across the waiting room’s coffee table. “What’s his name?”

Her old friend’s candor was unexpected, to say the least. Makoto bit down on her lip, chewing with a half-pout as she carefully mulled over her words. 

“Y-yes,” she clumsily decided, “I suppose you can say that.”

Vague. Maddeningly vague. A frown pulled Ann’s mouth taut. She crossed her arms as she let out an exasperated sigh, wondering why on Earth Makoto had even bothered asking her over.

Beyond them, the old crone of a woman manning the reception desk pressed the intercom button. “Komatsu Nana,” she paged. “Komatsu Nana.”

The announcement alerted the two friends by way of conditioning, but Makoto’s otherwise tense shoulders soon relaxed with the knowledge that it wasn’t quite her time yet.

“So,” Ann resumed, impatient with the fruitlessness of her hair twirling, “what’s his name?”

“His name?” 

Makoto knew better than to be baited like that. She would have been quick to look him up on social media had Makoto even been naive enough to hint at his first name. 

“It’s no one, really,” she smiled diplomatically. “He’s not worth mentioning.”

“That can’t be right,” Ann cut her off, raising a skeptical brow as she reclined forcefully against the aged leather cushion of her seat. She crossed her legs, letting out a huff as she eyed her friend with suspicion. “Not once in a _million_ years,” she emphasized hyperbolically, “did I think you’d ever go out with a guy _so bad_ , you can’t even admit to seeing him.”

But Ann didn’t stop there. She grabbed hold of Makoto’s wrist, letting the other almost scream in shock from her sudden and iron grip. “ _And a dumbass too_ ,” she practically hissed in a low murmur. “How did you let him do it without a condom?!”

The last bit was loud - unnecessarily loud. Makoto whipped her head around as she caught sight of disgruntled patients in the waiting room raising a brow at their unseemly behavior. 

Makoto was mortified. Her face reddened from the shame of having her proverbial laundry aired so publicly. “It’s not _that_ ,” she whispered back in another low hiss. “It was _my_ fault. I should have known better -...”

But all Ann gave was a click of her tongue, shaking her head in histrionic disapproval. “Don’t make excuses for your boyfriend, Makoto. It takes _two_ , after all.”

The university student felt her stomach sink at the mention of the label. Her hands clutched nervously at the bunched up fabric of her jeans, scratching and tearing at the denim.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, matter-of-fact. 

Ann peered up at her, containing her confusion into muted yet nevertheless wide-eyed shock. “If it’s a one-night stand,” she offered, trying to rationalize and process the rather surprising turn of events, “you should be even _more_ careful. You can’t-”

“It’s not that either,” Makoto cut in. Now her fingers made a target of each other. Her hands clutched and scratched at her otherwise smooth palms. “But you’re right,” she muttered, her voice dripping with shame and a desperate need for some diplomatic conclusion to Ann’s impromptu investigation. “I’ll be more careful next time.” 

“Makoto…” Ann couldn’t help it. She _tried_ to help it. But her voice stubbornly echoed with a tinge of pity. She glimpsed the subtle and fleeting contortions of Makoto’s face as she flinched away from her friend in redhanded embarrassment. 

“It’s fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms against each other against her chest. 

Ann didn’t bother to broach the uncomfortable subject any further. Whoever this guy was, Makoto wanted him to be a secret. That was that.

The two fell into an uncomfortable silence. Makoto awkwardly checked her wristwatch all the while forgetting how long, exactly, they had been waiting. 

Ann’s foot fell into a restless tapping. Her ankle boots clicked raucously against the faded tiles of the clinic. Somewhere, the ticking of a wall clock rattled her nerves, making even the simple chore of reading unbearable. Her hand almost reached for the magazines but decided against it. Something about the bright and bold letters - the pink, laminated covers - made her heave with sickly breathlessness. 

“You know,” Ann started up, unable to bear the silence any longer, “Ren asked about you.”

 _That_ caught Makoto’s attention. The older girl looked up from her lap, sitting with a sudden stiffness to her spine at the sound of their close friend’s name.

“He thought you would show up to the school festival, and to be honest, he was a little disappointed you didn’t come, especially when Haru managed to make it all the way from _her_ school.” Ann’s words trailed like soft whispers as she spun the coiling ends of her golden hair. 

Makoto, for her part, fought back a desperate need to ask, exactly, what he had said.

Ann may have been looking elsewhere, but she stole a glance at Makoto, bemused by her sudden glow and piqued curiosity. It was already nearing November, close to the end of their first year apart. And yet, Ann thought with a bite of her lip, Makoto didn’t seem completely over her high school infatuation. It made more sense at the time, considering how close they were. Both Makoto and Ren were practically inseparable, paying more than their due diligence to team planning. No one within their friend group were quite ready for the unexpected blow of Ren’s choice to date the otherwise perky and quirky Yoshizawa Kasumi.

“Actually,” she pressed on, “I was worried you didn’t like us anymore.” Ann’s tone simmered into a glum sort of sadness. “Or that you were forgetting about us…”

“-I could _never_ forget any of you,” Makoto instinctively yelled, forgetting herself. The waiting room fell into another awkward hush. Disgruntled eyes bore down on the two girls. “It’s just-... I-...” She leaned back on her seat with a sorry sort of pout.

 _It hurts to see him_.

An itched gnawed at the back of Makoto’s throat. 

_It hurts to see him with_ her.

How long had Makoto gone on without admitting _that_ much to herself? It had been the cross she unwittingly bore, and now the thought of Ren and Kasumi - holding hands like they did on Valentine’s Day - as they stalked her once cherished halls at Shujin… She couldn’t bear the thought.

“How are _they_?” Makoto asked, attempting to be the bigger person in her one-sided stalemate. “I hear Kasumi-chan stayed in Shujin.”

Ann cocked her head in surprise. “You didn’t know? Kasumi managed to transfer to Ren’s high school. They even...”

Ann continued on, updating Makoto on the unsavory details of how successfully Ren had forgotten his best friend. As she listened with seamless stoicism, Makoto pressed her legs together in a poised and proper manner, nodding politely as she heard of the trips the happy couple had already made to other cities in Japan, and how in their summer vacation, they had even visited Tokyo together. All the while, something hot and searing welled up in her throat. A burning sensation crept along the socket of her eyes, and all she could do was bite down on a tremor that threatened to unravel her otherwise stern composure.

 _I still love him_ , she thought against the clamor of Ann’s chattering. _I love him. I love him…_

“But yeah, I guess they’re doing okay for themselves, but even Kasumi asks about _you_ ,” Ann stopped in the middle of her story, leaning over her crossed knees to lower down in hushed whispers. “It’s obvious Ren misses you in his own way, so even if things were a little awkward towards the end, I don’t think it’d hurt to say hi every once in a while, y’know?” 

Makoto nodded, not trusting her ability to suppress the choked sobs building in her throat. 

“Niijima Makoto,” the intercom blared. “Niijima Makoto.”

Makoto jumped up, giddy and somewhat disarmed, as the old woman lazily called her in the midst of her distress.

Ann watched her friend in tense observation. Despite her sometimes loud and always cheerful demeanor, she had a way of listening and attending to those subtle turns - the wordless pleas of a girl trying desperately not to cry. Not so long ago, she once shared in those moments too.

“Come on,” Ann said, suddenly giddy. Her hand wrapped around Makoto’s, wound as they were like balled up fists on her lap. “Let’s go. They’re waiting for you.”

* * *

It had been days since Akira last saw Makoto. He hovered over his drink on the bar, cradling it within clammy hands as he checked and re-checked for a new notification. Around him, a cheesy love song from the mid-2000s deafened the ambient noise of glasses clinking and patrons chatting. A melodramatic duet from the radio slid into awkward rhymes and dulled into the rather generic chord progression so prevalent in those pop-rock days. 

_“I’ve always loved you,”_ sang the lovelorn singer. _“You’ve always had my heart_ ,” he waxed poetic. 

True enough, it was a little much to criticize a pop song pre-recorded and set to play on seedy bars for similarly hopeless lovers. But Akira was feeling ornery, and in his foot-tapping impatience, he would have made a target out of anything.

“Hey, I think that chick’s checking you out,” nudged his friend. Takumi was a friend from one of his law courses. He had always shadowed Akira, especially in those potentially exhilarating nights spent out drinking in bars and clubs. Things have taken a turn for the worse, however, and soon Takumi found himself sitting half-annoyed and half-aggravated that he had been stuck with a wet blanket for a wingman. With beer in hand, his buddy pointed to a young woman sitting from across the room. 

The bar itself was dark, and many silhouettes crowded around. But Akira could still glimpse the faint traces of her attractive shape, and the vixen-ish way she eyed him up and down as she took a sip of her cocktail. Far as she was, nothing about her stirred what needed to be stirred inside him. Lately, other women had fallen rather short on his thrill-seeking checklist, finding himself much too exhausted and much too bored listening to them prattle on before they engaged in the stale ritual of one-night stands and bleary hookups. 

Besides, he missed Makoto more. Makoto never prattled about anything. In fact, she rarely spoke much about herself, habitually inclined as she was to her evasive shroud of mystery. Was it the so-called mystery that piqued him? 

Akira sighed, throwing back his head to drink the last of his beer.

“You go for her. I’m good,” he said in a low and exasperated tone. 

“Aw come on man! She clearly wants _you_ ,” Takumi persisted. 

Akira had been used to this. He used to go out more frequently, and his escapades always bore fruit, whether he liked it or not. And there was always some less-than-charismatic straggler who clung to his conquests, as if watching girls go after him like hawks was worth the vicarious watch.

But the mood wasn’t striking, and the love song playing on the radio was starting to make his blood boil. 

_“I miss you,”_ he texted to Makoto on the sly, more than willing to distract himself from the pathetic love life his friend was imposing. 

“What?! You texting that chick again?!”

Akira scowled at the idea that his own friends won’t even acknowledge Makoto’s name.

“I’m just making sure she’s okay,” he answered, more than irate as he put his phone away in his ever-impulsive need to please those around him. 

Takumi shrugged.

Akira shrugged back.

The two came into an uncomfortable impasse. The song on the speakers abruptly changed, and for a moment the muted ambiance gave way to din of the crowd as the bar filled up.

“You know,” the friend picked up, shaking his head as he slugged back his mug of beer, “that woman is stringing you along.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Akira raised his hand to signal the bartender, who nodded in firm acknowledgement. He didn’t exactly have the money for another round of drinks, but he sure could use it.

“I’d hate to see you have your heart broken, Akira,” grumbled his friend, facing away so that he could focus on his own beverage.

“Heh,” he scoffed, bemused by the ominous warning, “you could say I had it coming.”

The conversation ended with his friend’s stern and tacit disapproval. 

From the corner of Akira’s eye, the same woman was still shooting him furtive glances and not-so-innocent looks. Akira’s gaze traveled back and forth, from her to the unanswered phone sitting next to his drink. 

He had broached the issue of exclusivity once, joking to Makoto in the middle of a lurid tryst that - for all extents and purposes - they really could be considered something of a hot item. His jokes never failed to make Makoto laugh, and it didn’t fail her that time either. But the way she immediately turned to him, rushing to kiss him in the confines of his crappy old sedan, showed just how thorny the issue was. He never brought it up again, and so he went on his selfsame routine, unsure and uncertain what to do with himself in the meantime. 

Another piteous sigh erupted from his lips, and Akira had to stop himself from hunching over his drink.

“ _I want to see you,”_ he texted again. 

But regret instantly burst through the dam of his self-contained impassivity. Akira threw his phone into his jacket pocket, busying himself with the new drink supplied by the bartender. He cast another glance at the woman from across the bar. Not much has changed. She still eyed him in that detached sort of seduction - egging him on to make the move he knew he had to make. 

In his pocket, his phone remained silent.

* * *

Makoto heard the knock on her dorm room door first. It was 3 in the morning. She hurriedly slipped on an oversized t-shirt, groggily rising from the bed and rushing to the relentless knocking with delirious energy.

“What are you doing?!” 

“I had to see you again.”

She closed the door behind her, careful to keep their voices down.

“You could have woken up my roommate!”

“I’m sorry.”

Makoto sighed, hugging herself in the brisk autumn air. Akira sensed her shivering even in the dark, closing in as they both pressed together with Makoto’s back flattened against the door.

There were so many things Akira wanted to say; so many questions he wanted to ask. Why had she ignored him for the past few days? Why did she absolutely refuse to entertain any conversation about how they were - how in love he wanted to be?

But all he could manage was the unsteady breathing of his lungs and the ruffled nerves as he sauntered half-drank to his not-girlfriend’s dorm room.

“Do you hate me, Mako-chan?”

“Of course not!” she hissed, shaking her head and all the same being too aware as to why she had pushed Akira to this dangerous sort of precipice. “I-... I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch. There have been… I’ve just been dealing with some things.”

“Tell me,” he insisted, holding her hands in his. “I’ll help you.”

“It’s nothing you can help.”

She sounded so cold. He wondered how she could be so cold.

“You know I love you... I always have.”

A lonesome street lamp shed a pallid light over the two. The steam coming from their breaths were visible, clouded as they were in Tokyo’s starless sky.

“You don’t even know me,” she said, a little more frail than before.

Even in the dark, he could hear her teeth chattering.

“I’m trying,” he pressed on. “Mako-chan, I’m trying…”

As he kissed her, Makoto couldn’t help but smell the lingering scent of another woman's perfume and whiskey along the collar of his shirt. Normally she would have said something, but she was tired. Sleepy and tired.

For Akira’s part, kissing her was a different story altogether. He started to wonder why he even wasted time on other girls; or why he would even bother with less-than-satisfactory games when she was there - sweet and delicious in his mouth, like the finest wine that left him shuddering for more. 

“I love you,” he repeated.

Makoto’s shoulders were trembling. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth, fighting back the sobs she had been stifling since her visit to the clinic with Ann.

“I love you too,” she relented, still busy with the tears she failed to hold back.

Akira laughed. It was a breathy, coarse, and stilted laughter. He took her in his arms and kissed her again, aiming sloppily from the corner of her mouth to her soft supple cheeks. Everything about her was irresistible, and he wanted more. 

Being with her was a habit now - a routine he found comfort in. She was so small, and she fit so snuggly in his arms. Akira couldn’t help but lift her by the waist, pinning her back against the door and letting his hands travel all over, revealing her shivering nakedness from beneath the oversized shirt.

“Not here,” she whispered into his ear.

But he didn’t listen, and the sound of his belt buckle clinking filled the frigid air. 

Makoto’s toes curled inward as he lifted her thigh up. Her cheeks went flush at the touch of him, filling herself with his warmth and the iron grip of his embrace.

There, in the abandoned corridors of the dormitory complex, Akira and Makoto made love, exchanging half-spoken moans and whispered secrets in the dark.

  



	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, can we talk?”

Ren rubbed the corners of his eyes, still groggy and bleary from oversleeping on a slow, Saturday morning. He fell back in bed, phone mashed between his uncouth hair and flattened pillow. 

“Yeah, what’s up?”

The sunlight from his bedroom window was blinding. He raised an arm over his face, shielding them from the harsh pallor of daylight.

On the other end of the line, Ann took a pause. Silence clung to the receiver, and for a moment Ren was afraid he had lost the line.

“Ann? You there?”

A slight gasp breathed back life into the conversation. Ann stammered out a nervous “Y-yeah,” before taking yet another moment, this time briefer, to broach the subject.

“It’s about Makoto,” she finally spoke. 

Even on the phone, Ren could picture Ann fall back to her nervous ticks: twirling her hair, crossing her arms, or letting her shoulders fall with the weight of secrets piled on top of secrets. 

“What about her?” he asked, involuntarily sitting up. His pillows and blankets all fumbled about in the maelstrom of his sudden movements. “Is she okay?”

Ren hadn’t heard from Makoto in over six months. Their once personal conversations on text moved to the more public forum of their group chat. And once _that_ started to fall by the wayside… Well… 

“Yeah, I think so,” Ann answered, albeit ambiguously.

Ren didn’t like ambiguity.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to sound softer than he could.

Ann caught on to the panic dripping from his tone, and she immediately mustered the courage necessary to quell any further alarms. 

“I saw her yesterday,” she said. “She seemed fine, health-wise and stuff, but…”

It was strange, Ren thought. He hadn’t really given Makoto any thought in recent months. After her absence in the school festival, he assumed that she had simply moved on; that life before, when they were all Phantom Thieves, was yesterday’s hazy dream. But now, teetering as Ren was on the precipice of Ann’s delayed responses, he couldn’t help but feel a knot twist in his stomach.

“I don’t know,” Ann reneged, “I’m really worried about her, but I can’t really say why…”

Ren gulped back his nerves. He moved to the edge of the bed, sitting up properly as he ran a tired hand through his hair. “Ann, what happened between you two?”

“N-nothing!” she squealed. Ann was beginning to get flustered. How was she supposed to tiptoe that delicate line of keeping her friend’s secret all the while seeking help on her behalf?

“I just think,” she started again after allowing herself a few relaxing breaths, “... I just think that she might be getting involved in something she shouldn’t.” Or _someone_ , thought Ann with a bite of her lip. But she knew better than to operate half-cocked on assumptions.

The vagueness was getting to him. Ren scratched the back of his head, already too sleepy and tired to while away the morning in mind games. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “What do you want me to do?”

It’s not that he didn’t want to help, or that he was unwilling to lend Makoto a hand - should she ask for it. But it _had_ been months, and they weren’t as close as they used to be. If Ann was worried over a secret entrusted to her, he didn’t really feel comfortable waltzing back in her life out of the blue…

“I called you,” Ann answered with a defeated sigh, “because I think she trusts you.”

“Trusts me?” he parroted incredulously. “Ann… Makoto and I haven’t seen each other in _months_.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” she whined back, “but you were always the person she looked up to back in those days… I don’t think it’d hurt if you reached out.”

 _Reached out?_ Ren tried to recall the last time he “reached out.” He had mailed Makoto a birthday present: a silver wristwatch with her initials carved on the inside. The present was bigger than what he’d normally give to a friend because - well, there _were_ reasons. She’d gotten into her top choice university. _That_ deserved something special, and part of it had to do with his own heartfelt apology - a sinking feeling that he had done something wrong. 

When Ren started dating Kasumi, the time he spent with Makoto had drastically suffered. Not on purpose, of course. _Definitely_ not. She was important to him - being his best friend and all. But when she simply followed up with a monotonous text (“Thank you for the birthday present”), he figured it was a hint that she either was too busy, or their interactions had drizzled down to mundane check-ups and habitual greetings. And when he tried again, this time texting with more of an effort, even _those_ conversations ran stilted.

“I don’t know,” he said, running his sweaty palms through his face as he tried to jolt himself even more awake.

“Listen, you don’t have to _do_ anything,” Ann immediately covered, worried she was losing in this already uphill battle. “Call her up, say hi… _Remind_ her that we still remember her.”

“Really?” he fired back. “See, I got this impression she’s forgotten about _us_.”

From her end, Ann rolled her eyes and let out an aggravated groan. _Boys are so stupid_.

“You’re coming back for the Christmas party right?” she asked, swerving strategically to a different subject.

“Yeah.”

“Well, invite her. Let her know she’s still welcome at Leblanc, even if it’s for a little bit.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. Ren pitched his elbows on his knees, leaning forward as he struggled to process the sudden turn of events. “Can you at least clue me in on what’s going on? This is all so sudden.”

“I can’t say,” she hesitated. Ann once more twirled a fidgety finger into the softened curls of her hair. Sitting in her room, she bit her lip and wondered how much she should give away - or if she should give anything away at all. “All I know is that Makoto might be getting involved with someone she shouldn’t be.”

There. She relented. Ann’s chest tightened with instantaneous regret. Surely she had just given her friend away.

“Involved? What do you mean?” The questions piled on. Ren was more confused than ever. “Is she caught up in some con or-...?”

 _"Ren!_ ” Ann whined again, impatient with how what was supposed to be a quick phone call began to escalate into something else entirely. “Just _call_ her, okay?” she commanded sternly.

There was another silence, but this time it was from _his_ end of the line. Ren sat, neither stunned nor unmoved by the unraveling situation. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded checking up on Makoto. Surely he didn’t need Ann to lecture him on it. But…

“Yeah,” he settled, feeling weary and deadened by the weight of her insinuations. If Ann wasn’t going to cave and tell him _exactly_ what was going on, then he’d have to find out for himself. “I’ll call her.”

“Good.”

The line disconnected, and a high-pitched monotone filled his ear. 

It took him a moment. The phone before him reverted back to the home screen. The pale numbers read out 10:04. Outside, the sun had cast a cool yet austere sheen of silver daylight. It was late November - chillier than he would have liked. Compared to Tokyo, his home town was certainly cooler and dreary. Shifting his gaze to the calendar on the wall, Ren couldn’t help but notice that they were a couple of weeks away before the Christmas party that Sojiro had planned.

Ren pinched the bridge of his nose, mulling over the propriety of sending an invitation that, given how absent she had been, could appear either too early or too late. His thumb scrolled through the contacts, and the page stopped when he finally reached her name: Makoto. 

The last call log from her was April.

 _Funny_ , he thought to himself. His eyes narrowed at that tiny detail, wondering why or what exactly brought him to call her then. Looking back at the rest of his log, he had a missed call from Kasumi earlier (she made it a habit to greet him every morning, despite their almost daily after school meetups) and a text written with a bubbly, “Good morning!” The gesture made him smile.

But not even such a cheery reminder of his current relationship could wash away the stale bitterness lingering in his mouth. The dread piled up in his chest. The weight of it was pushing oppressively down on his lungs. He didn’t necessarily _dread_ talking to Makoto, per se, but he dreaded what he might find out.

Smart and capable as she was, Ren always worried that the former advisor and co-leader of the Phantom Thieves too easily gave way to her rash impulses. 

_Still…_

Ren rose from the bed. His outstretched arms cast long shadows over his bedroom floor, and his lungs heaved a heavy and satisfying yawn.

Turning back to his phone, his thumb hovered over the call button: Makoto. It had been a long time, but truth be told, there was a familiarity to the act that quelled a bit of the fears welling in his stomach. As far as he knew, Makoto simply got busy with university, and the rift that wedged itself between them was an understandable - albeit unfortunate - chink in their longstanding friendship. Even if years had passed, how could he forget how she had always stood by his side? Fighting with him? Protecting him? 

When he finally pressed the green call button, he recalled - not without some giddy fondness - the few times Makoto (as Queen) led the team head-on. “Full throttle,” as she would say. He wondered how, in such a short time, the Queen he knew could so easily fade away.

* * *

At first, Makoto didn’t hear her phone ring on her bedside table. She was much too busy that morning.

Akira had stayed over, finding himself too drunk and, frankly, too tired to crawl back home when the trains had already stopped running. While Makoto’s roommate had made it known more than once how she disapproved of his presence in the dorm, at least Makoto herself didn’t mind. By the time Ren decided to make his call, the two were already locked in a heady embrace. 

“Mako-chan,” he gasped out, eyes closed and listless as he rolled in slow, melting motions into her. Akira had her pinned down on the bed. His hands pitched to her wrists, pushing them down into the pillows as he fought hard to steady himself.

Every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of her face, her contorted features, and the lip-biting moan she would allow herself every once in a while. Looking at her then, Akira always found something titillating about the way she kept wearing his shirt, oversized and wrinkled, as they made love. The way the fabric bunched up on her ribs was its own thrill, naked as she was in every other regard. 

The phone rattled again.

He could feel Makoto’s thighs loosen their grip around his waist. That won’t do. Akira’s free hand shot up to her right leg, lifting it and keeping it tightly wound around him as he quickened his pace.

“Answer it later.” 

His voice was hoarse and subdued to a low growl.

The skin of Makoto’s thighs - sticky with sweat - practically peeled from his. Makoto, for her part, could only arch her back in response, unable to move her hands or free her legs from his fierce grip.

But the continued vibration of her phone was distracting - bothersome, even. Makoto opened her eyes and locked with the steady tension holding his. She rose, pulling herself up to him in a haggard embrace. 

“Fuck me,” she whispered into his ear, coy and blushing all the while. 

And by the time the words escaped her lips, Akira was already stifling back a groan. The bedsprings screeched against the pressure of their rutting, bouncing in loud and reckless abandon.

Makoto knew Akira always took a little longer when he used a condom. Her red eyes shot to the flashing screen of her phone, curious and nervous as to who could be relentlessly calling so early in the morning.

“Harder, Akira,” she commanded, grabbing onto his neck and coiling her limbs around the trunk of his body. Truth be told, her heart always skipped a scandalous beat whenever she engaged in so-called dirty talk. It wasn’t really her style.

But given how loud he was groaning on top of her; how he was already losing control and bruising her with kisses and bites down her neck… she knew how he hungered for it, and Makoto was always eager to please.

Akira answered back, singing her praises in choked up groans and whispers of her name, thrumming like a low growl along the nape of her neck. The room felt like it was shaking with them, lost as they were in the white heat of drowning in each other.

And when he felt it - that heavy pressure welling like senseless weight in his groin - Akira pushed Makoto deeper into the bed and crouched over her. He lifted her by the waist as his lips traveled downwards. The once titillating t-shirt suddenly became an obnoxious obstacle. He eagerly pulled it up, feeling the taut pull of the fabric as he ripped it off her shoulders.

The sight of her was enough for him. Lost and half-blind from the searing pleasure, he took in the whole of her breast into his mouth. The taste of her and the feel of her tightening around him was too much. The force of his own haphazard thrusts had him biting down, stifling the moans of his orgasm. 

Makoto shivered at the grazing touch of his teeth. It was the second time they made love that morning, and though it was rare for her to feel that whole-body-shudder, she nevertheless felt an electrifying numbness seize her legs. Her body stiffened, and her toes curled inwards as his body pumped violently into her.

It took a few seconds; a few more thrusts. Akira rutted in slowing motions, melting into her just as he loosened his grip. They both fell like a pile of spit and sweat, mixing in with nothing but the deafening sound of their harsh and jagged breathing to fill the dense and foggy silence.

The phone vibrated again, shaking violently against the bedside table.

Makoto threw an arm over her head, letting the back of it fall on her eyes as she fought back her exhaustion.

Akira, for his part, was still incapacitated on top of her. He already came twice that morning, and Makoto figured he was hardly in the position to move. 

She absent-mindedly reached for her bedside table. Her hand brushed up against the study lamp, almost knocking it over in her wobbly attempts to grab her phone. When she finally found it, the phone had rattled into her sweaty palm for the second call. Whoever was calling surely was stubborn.

“Hello?” she picked up, not bothering to read the caller ID.

“Makoto?”

Despite the exhaustion - the bleary fogginess of reeling from an otherwise sleepless night and overactive morning - Makoto’s eyes peeled open. 

She immediately sat up, much to the surprise of Akira who woke with a jolt from her sudden movements.

“Makoto? Are you there?” Ren asked, sounding more worried this time.

She still hadn’t said anything. Her voice was stopped up with the push and pull of instinctively calling out his name and doing everything in her power to stop herself.

“Who is it?” Akira asked lethargically (and rather loudly), annoyed that she was merely sitting there in dumbfounded silence.

Her heart fluttered in mortified panic as the blood drained from her face. She couldn’t think. She was still lightheaded and breathless. Even the sheer fact she was sitting up was a feat on its own. There was a suspicious silence that followed, and for a split second, Makoto was sure he had disconnected the call.

“Did I… get the wrong number?” Ren finally asked. The timidity in his voice was palpable. (Although he knew deep down that couldn’t have been the case. He hadn’t touched or changed Makoto’s contact information all the while).

“Mako-chan?” Akira asked, somewhat irate and impatient for the interruption in their morning to be over. 

She could hear it. She could hear that inaudible gasp of surprise. If Ren hadn’t heard Akira earlier, he _definitely_ heard him now. Makoto instinctively whipped around, covering the base of her phone with her palm as she spoke in low, placating tones, “Hold on. I have to take this call.”

Akira looked questioningly back at her, to which she could only mouth an inaudible “ _sorry_ ” as she removed her hand, ready to speak to Ren. 

The mattress bounced as she hurried to the edge, placing both feet on the floor in an effort to straighten her posture and gain _some_ sort of distance from Akira.

“H-hi!” she squeaked. Her cheeks reddened at the thought of how overly excited she must have seemed. 

On the other end of the line, Ren swallowed yet another nervous gulp. He delayed his response, choosing instead to mull his words more carefully. 

“Hey, it’s me,” he started, kicking himself internally for the rather awkward greeting. “Ren.” Hopefully _that_ clarified it for her.

“I know,” she simply said.

Behind her, Akira feigned sleep, hugging a pillow to himself as he curled in a half-sprawled fetal position. The length of his arm snaked around where the mattress sank with Makoto’s weight. Although she had made her choice, that didn’t stop him from sighing in exasperation, fumbling to inch closer while playfully grazing the tip of his fingers along the base of her spine.

“Um… I’m not bothering you right now, am I?” Ren asked when he heard more noises in the background. “Are you with someone?”

Makoto’s heart dropped. “Um, n-no! It’s nothing,” she lied. Outwardly, Makoto let the palm of her free hand fall flat on her face. The lie was the most obvious and most unnecessary mistake she made.

“Oh, okay,” he said, somewhat surprised. “I was just calling to make sure you’re okay.”

“To make sure-,” she mimed in confusion. “What do you mean? Did something happen!?”

“It’s nothing,” he hurriedly interrupted. “I just had a bad feeling something happened, and it’s been a while, you know…”

Another awkward pause fell over their conversation, and Makoto was left with the aftermath of his words’ tapering implications. It _had_ been a while - too long to count. She couldn’t even recall the last time they spoke over the phone, much less in person. 

Akira took advantage of Makoto’s silence. He sidled up behind her, planting small and soundless kisses over the small of her back as his arms wrapped stubbornly around her waist. Makoto gave a halfhearted effort to push his hands away.

“Anyway,” Ren continued, “I wanted to let you know, if you happen to be free...”

“Y-yes?”

Makoto didn’t remember Ren as a nervous person. His conversation may have been terse, but it was never punctuated with such lingering silences and awkward pauses. 

Behind her, Akira managed to sit up, hovering over her back as the kisses he left on her back traveled up to her shoulders. She felt a chill travel down her spine when his teeth pinched like a small and harmless nibble on her bare skin. 

“In a couple of weeks, we’re all meeting up again at Leblanc. Boss is throwing a Christmas party.”

_All?_

That familiar itch gnawed at her throat. 

_Will_ she _be there too?_

“I’d love it if you could come,” Ren finished. And though his tone had been somewhat glum, if not a little bit aloof, his voice changed by the end of the invitation. Makoto heard from his end of the line a soft chuckle. “The gang’s not really the same without you,” he added, letting his wistfulness linger with each passing second.

“Oh, is that so?” she joked back, surprised at her own readiness to jump into the proverbial swing of things.

Akira wasn’t quite close enough to the phone to eavesdrop on the _entire_ conversation. For all he knew, some distant relative had called. But he’d be a fool if he ignored the ostensible shift in her tone, and the way her shoulders relaxed - not from his ministrations - but from the clear change in mood that had occurred before him.

Whoever it was, Makoto was absolutely engrossed in conversation. She didn’t even seem fazed when he dared move a hand further below her waist, teasing her along her inner thigh as held her in a backward embrace.

“Yeah, you should come,” Ren offered.

Choice of words.

Makoto let out a sharp gasp, biting down on her lip when she felt Akira’s hand dip lower into her. She would have told him to stop; yelled at him even, but he woke in her an electrifying numbness she couldn’t quite shake off. Makoto’s hips buckled under the pressure, and she fought hard to spit out _any_ response to throw Ren off their trail.

“That-... that sounds nice,” she blurted out. “I -... um….”

Akira didn’t even hold back anymore. He pressed his chest against her back and toyed with her, grinning wrly as she bit back a moan and faced away from her phone.

“I-I’ll be there,” she hurriedly added on. “S-see you soon!”

Not even a second had passed after she hung up the call, but Akira was ready to turn her around, flailing her back beneath coils and mounds of sweat-dampened sheets. Her phone flew from her hands in the confusion of things.

“What are you doing?!” she hissed, caught in the mix of wanting to smack him and wanting to give in. “I was on the phone!”

“Just call them back later,” he quipped, focusing on his newfound task now that he shook off the last few remnants of his fatigue.

Her hands shot down to his wrists, stopping him with the frail hold of her might. 

“Stop it!” she whined. 

Akira obeyed, albeit partially. He drew her into his arms, and the two fell back into the middle of the bed. He landed on top of her with a smile. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it,” he said, punctuating the apology with a heartfelt kiss. 

“You’re _not_ sorry,” Makoto answered with a pout. “What if that was an important phone call?! You can’t just-...”

“ _Was_ it an important phone call?” he parried. Akira dared a soft kiss below her ear, nibbling where her jaw met her neck as he playfully sucked on her skin. He was certainly pushing more boundaries than he was used to. “Who was it anyway?”

The question was unassuming. Akira had a way with his words where they landed like casual, throwaway lines. But Makoto knew better. His gray eyes gleamed with the suspicion that dogged his voice. 

“No one!” she cried out. There was a telltale quiver of her lip before she bit down, clearly pondering her next move as he looked back at her, nonplussed by the obvious lie. “A friend,” she hastily tacked on.

Akira sighed. He rolled off of her in the meantime, sprawling his limbs in the larger frame of her full-sized bed as he struggled to accept her answer. 

Heavy silence followed. The room, washed over with the pale daylight of the late Saturday morning, was overcast in a somber and wintry hue. Laying quietly on her bed, Akira thought to himself how seldom he had been invited to Makoto’s dorm in the many months they had been together; how the textured ceiling he had been staring at - grainy and speckled by old, withering paint - was as unfamiliar as everything else about her. 

“Mako-chan,” he said after a while, “what am I to you?”

“What do you mean?” she snapped back, clearly impatient with him. 

“I mean,” he said, craning his neck to face her, “am I just a ‘friend’ to you too?”

Akira wasn’t going to hide that he heard snippets of the whole thing; or at the very least, that he heard a man’s voice on the other line. And Makoto wasn’t very good at concealing her own feelings on the matter either. Angry as she was, pouting with the disappointment of a conversation cut too short, he couldn’t quite shake off the memory of the cheerful excitement in her voice or the way her own muscles perked up - clearly delighted. He couldn’t even remember the last time _he_ made her feel that way.

“What is all this about?!” she whinnied, half-rising to hover over him. _All over one phone call too…_ Makoto chewed nervously on her lower lip. True enough, the phone call from Ren was unexpected - a pleasant surprise, even. But for Akira to express such _possessiveness_ when all she did was answer a call was unheard of. 

“Answer my question,” he insisted. The tightlipped expression on his face was unrelenting.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she sighed out, aggravated and annoyed. Makoto landed with a plop on the other side of the bed, facing away from him so as to get, at the very least, some of the sleep that had eluded them.

But Akira, who was normally all too willing to drop a subject if it ever was sensitive, wasn’t going to let it end there. 

“Because, you know, friends don’t do _this_.”

She heard the accusation from behind her. She heard the fall of his breath, and the stopped up tremor in his tone. 

“Friends don’t ask friends to fuck their brains out just because the mood struck them.”

Makoto scoffed. As far as she knew, she had never even asked him to come over. But the argument aside, she knew what this was all _really_ about, and it didn’t surprise her at all that something so small - such as taking a phone call from a _boy_ \- would set him off on such a loaded question. Stubbornly refusing to face him, she continued laying on her side. “You don’t seem to have any problem doing it for complete strangers.”

The bed bounced with a flurry of motions. Makoto felt the tug of his hand as he grabbed her by the arm. 

What she expected was anger - a fire raging in his eyes with the proverbial fury of the sun. But when she landed with her back to the bed, facing him as he was on top of her once more, she saw instead the subtle pull of a frown on his lips. There was no anger in his eyes either. They were cool and shimmering with unsteadiness.

“I _love_ you,” he declared. “If you asked me now,” he paused to grab hold of her hand, drawing it towards his bare chest as his breath fell coarse and heated against her cheeks, “I would give up _everything_ to be with you.”

Makoto, for her part, couldn’t breathe. Her lungs constricted firmly inward. It was all too overwhelming. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she murmured, trying to avert her gaze and the intense plea in his eyes.

“I want you...” he paused to tighten his grip around her hand. A stutter choked up his words, and Akira had to swallow that wad of nerves and fear to begin again. “I want _you_.” Unconvinced by the ambiguity that still lingered in the meaning of it all, he let his other hand cup her cheek, turning her back to face him. “I want you to be mine.”

“Akira!”

“No one else,” he adamantly continued. 

“But there _isn’t_ anyone else,” she protested. A tear broke her voice, and soon her shoulders trembled with an unexpected swelling of emotions. Why exactly she was crying, she didn’t know. 

“Don’t be like that,” he begged in a low and fearful whisper. No tricks; no implications. “Tell me you’re _mine_ . _My_ girlfriend, and that you don’t have feelings for _anyone_ else.”

Makoto shook her head. Hot tears stung her eyes shut, and she refused to look at him. She _couldn’t_ look at him.

Dissatisfied with her evasiveness, Akira pressed onto her with his weight. He grabbed her face - his large and sweaty hands holding onto her cheeks. 

“Mako-chan,” he whispered more gently, “I can make you happy. If you’d _let_ me…”

It wasn’t a question of ‘letting.’ In the six months they’d been together, Makoto had fought against the impulse to keep him like a shameful secret buried in her heart. It didn’t matter that she knew Akira didn’t really resemble Ren, after all; that their resemblance vanishes once one notices the more crooked outline of his nose, his harsher jaw, and his hairline that receded further into his uncouth bramble of dark hair. Not to mention, the difference in personality… None of that mattered. If any of her friends, or even her _sister_ , saw him… 

Makoto scrunched her face.

She couldn’t bear the thought of facing _any_ of them and their cold eyes accusing her of what they _thought_ she had done.

“If you’d let me,” he repeated, this time his voice rang in a confusing mix of fear and hopefulness, “I can be yours, and _only_ yours.”

When Makoto finally faced him, his eyes shone with such earnestness, and the grip of his hand over her jaw was so firm - as if he was afraid to let go - she couldn’t help but cough out a confused blend of sobbing and laughter. Her shoulders shook with the force of the pent-up tears, smiling all the while.

“What-... what’s so funny?” he asked, unable to resist miming her tear-filled fit of giggling. His muscles relaxed, and the tension that had fogged over them appeared to have subsided. 

“I don’t care anymore,” she said, brushing a knuckle against the corner of her eye.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she hurriedly reached up with her hands, caressing his cheek so as to stay anymore questions that could throw the whole thing off.

“N-nothing,” she answered in between sniffles. Makoto reached up to kiss him, never mind the salt of the tears still streaming relentlessly down her face. 

“What you said just now… it’s all I ever wanted to hear.” 

* * *

Later that afternoon, Makoto sent Ann a text.

_“I heard you guys are having a Christmas party. Is it okay if I bring my boyfriend?”_

  



	4. Chapter 4

Makoto jumped up at the sound of her boot crunching snow. “It’s been a while,” she said to herself, eyeing the changes that she couldn’t seem to find.

She dug one shivering hand into her coat pocket as the brisk evening air brushed the back of her neck. The other hand, wrapped around Akira’s arm, gripped tighter.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as they turned a corner.

“You used to hang around here? I thought you lived with your sister in-...”

“Y-yeah,” she interrupted him. “But um… my friends kind of chose to spend time here, I guess.”

The damp cement of Yongen-jaya’s streets softened beneath a pale sheet of thinning ice. Meanwhile, the couple walked arm in arm, struggling to pick up their pace as the snow started to heap in piles. But the inclement weather, Akira’s longer strides, and Makoto’s rather short ones, only led to their half-hearted scurrying. Around them, the occasional vagrant or the haphazard drunk would threaten an incidental collision, and Akira would mechanically step forward, snaking an arm around Makoto’s bundled waist as he instinctively shielded her.

“Kinda crowded today,” he blithely commented. The two flitted to and fro the various store windows and stalls as late night bars cast harsh, yellowish lines on the suddenly wintry scene.

“It’s always been like this,” she answered with a slight chuckle.

They didn’t have very far to go. Another block or two, and Leblanc would be right around the corner. Makoto bit down on her lip as she mentally rehearsed their greetings.

First, she would wave to everyone, making sure to say hi to those who instantly approached or announced their presence (potentially Futaba, or perhaps even Ryuji). And once the round of hugs and “it’s been a while!”’s have been exchanged, she would carefully step aside, drawing attention to the man who had waited patiently behind her. Slowly, she would turn and, in a natural and candid manner, of course, say the words: “ _This is Akira, my boyfriend_.”

“You nervous?” he asked.

Looking up at him, Makoto noticed that the smile on his face hadn’t disappeared - not one bit. He opted not to wear a hat - what with his slicked back coif brandishing the receding cowlick of his hairline. The neatness of it was undone by a few loose strands or two, but it was kempt enough to show the reddening bits of his ear as the temperature slowly fell with the darkening sky.

“I am! Aren’t you?!” She was half amused, half stunned by his brazen excitement.

“Nah, not really.” He threw his head back with confidence, letting the soft smile meld into a devilish grin. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to meet your cute friends,” he joked, nudging her in the rib while tightening their half-embrace.

Makoto laughed along, clinging to the good mood of being in his arms while walking down familiar streets.

Still, she didn’t say anything. Akira looked ahead as they trudged on through the narrow alleys. Nearby, a food stall boasted the aroma of freshly fried takoyakis, and lanterns hung for the holiday glowed a warm yet soft light.

“I love you,” he said out of the blue.

Makoto felt the tug of his arm as he drew her towards him. Her steps wobbled from the disruption, and she fumbled along in the snow, clumsily clinging to her boyfriend for support.

“I love you too,” she replied with a tremor in her voice.

Ahead of her, the cursive lettering of Leblanc’s sign became visible in the distance.

* * *

“What’s this about Makoto bringing a boyfriend?”

Bright lines wrapped in tinsel framed the ceiling, brightening the otherwise austere and understated aesthetic of the cafe. Ren reached up to pin the last bit of decoration on one of the ceiling corners, wincing as silver glitter caught on his nose.

Sojiro let out a curmudgeonly sigh as he arranged the pots and dishes along the counter. The curry he had prepared the evening before started to congeal in some places, and he didn’t know if the unexpected cold had something to do with it.

“Kid disappears for almost a year, and now she comes back with a _boyfriend_?”

Next to him, Ann shrugged her shoulders. She was distributing a dozen baked goods in somewhat sloppy rows next to the more savory entrees of their Christmas feast. “She just said he’s some guy she met at school.”

“If it’s Mako-chan,” Haru chimed in, “I’m sure he’s very nice.”

Ren made sure to hammer the pin forcefully in place. The tinsel obeyed, hanging as it dangled with a pretty glimmer.

Off to the corner, Ryuji and Morgana contributed _their_ more raucous and half-cocked speculations.

“I bet he’s some _nerd_ ,” Ryuji scoffed as he snatched a cookie from one of the trays (to which Ann gave him a stinging slap on the wrist).

Morgana, on the other hand, disagreed for the sake of disagreeing. Yusuke, who was minding his own absentminded corner of the cafe, recited the many merits of Makoto that _certainly_ meant she could have her pick.

“Wah, senpai! That looks so nice!” Kasumi chirped from behind him.

Ren forced a smile as he stepped down from the stool, shrugging all the while. He grabbed her outstretched hand - an offering of literal support only an ever attentive girlfriend could make.

“It’s nothing really,” he muttered.

Kasumi didn’t seem to notice that his smile vanished in an instant, or that Ren lingered behind as she practically skipped back to the group near the bar.

None of them seemed to notice, actually. Not that there _was_ anything to notice. Brushing the errant piece of glittery tinsel off his nose, Ren sucked into his teeth with a tired breath. The topic of Makoto’s boyfriend was curious, indeed. He even had his own speculations as to the kind of guy the once-elusive Queen would brandish so readily to her long lost friends. But…

_“Are you with someone?”_

_“Um, n-no! It’s nothing…”_

It didn’t help that Haru’s use of an affectionate nickname reminded him of what exactly he heard during that conversation.

The front door bell chimed as cold air blustered in. The din of small conversations fell into a hush as all heads looked to the entrance.

“Hi! I’m so sorry we’re late!”

“Oh my god, Makoto!”

“Mako-chan! It’s _really_ you!”

“Hey hey hey! Look who’s back!”

The former Phantom Thieves ran like children to the front, gathering around her as they were abuzz with questions.

Ren dawdled. He took a few steps back, half-turned, and then decided against how stupid he might look to Sojiro, whom he didn’t realize was still setting up their little buffet. The older man, meanwhile, eyed the awkward teen with a not-so subtle and toothy grin.

It was better to turn around and _just_ say hi, especially when he couldn’t quite parse out his former guardian’s meaning at the moment.

“MAKOTO! YOU LOOK _SO_ GORGEOUS!”

It was Ann who made the announcement - a declaration that must have primed Ren before he actually saw her.

For Makoto stood by the door, shedding off her scarf and winter coat with as much unassuming elegance as he remembered she always had. A taller figure stood behind her, but that didn’t really matter. All Ren had to do was catch a glimpse of crimson - the deep red of her rather short, lacey dress as the frumpier outerwear disappeared from sight. Neither did he _not_ notice that it boasted a rather deep cut, dipping way lower down her chest than any dress should. Ren chewed his lower lip as he caught himself looking askance, unable to handle the stupidly warm glow in his cheeks.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I hope I’m not overdressed,” she apologized while bowing her head ever so slightly. “By the way…”

The rest of the group fell into another wave of silence. All eyes were pointed on Makoto as she stepped aside from the figurative spotlight.

“WOAH! Is he your super new and super cool college boyfriend?!” shrieked Futaba, hands conjoined into a singular fist pump against her chest.

All Ren could see was the way Makoto’s face reddened with embarrassment. He wanted to say something by way of greeting both of them; or perhaps even offer to take their coats.

But he was stopped dead in his tracks. The ‘super new and super cool college boyfriend’ inched forward and snaked a brazen arm around Makoto’s waist. Ren heard the click of her high heels as she was practically drawn to the other man’s side, blushing an even deeper red.

“Oh! H-he _is,”_ she stuttered through her embarrassment. “Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Akira.”

This “Akira” nodded casually to the room with a somewhat wry smile. Aside from the arm that was busy keeping Makoto close to him, he feigned some cavalier demeanor by lackadaisically digging a hand into his pocket. The slouch of his showed off the slack of his height, if not an utter disregard for proper self-presentation.

“Hey,” he said back to the enraptured crowd.

Next to Ren, Kasumi crept up to his shoulder, tugging at his shirt sleeve while whispering coyly into his ear, “Makoto-senpai’s boyfriend _sure_ is handsome, don’t you think?” He could feel her watch his face for any changes - any unsmoothed contortion in his otherwise nonplussed features. “Actually, I think he kind of looks like you!”

Ren didn’t know about _that_. All he knew was that the aloof and bad-boy look didn’t seem to suit Makoto’s much more restrained and mild-mannered poise. Even the tousled unkemptness of his slicked-back hair seemed a little _too_ laidback. Did she _really_ meet him at university?

“Come on now, everyone! Take a seat,” Sojiro broke off the maelstrom of greetings and called everyone back to cafe proper. “Give the kid some room to breathe. We’ve got all night to catch up!”

Ren followed Kasumi, who readily joined the rest of the team in grabbing much-needed refreshments. For a moment, Ren stood back and looked wistfully over his shoulder for a chance to catch Makoto on the off-chance he could tell her, _“I’m glad you came_.” But others readily jumped the gun, and Kasumi’s arm-pull was much stronger than he anticipated. So Ren stifled back a word or two, and went ahead of everyone to enjoy Sojiro’s lovingly prepared buffet. Whatever he wanted to say after so many months of having said _nothing_ could wait.

“Thank you for inviting us, boss,” Makoto whispered mousily as she (with boyfriend still clinging to her arm) approached Sojiro from the other side of the counter. “I apologize for not getting into contact earlier…”

The aged barista could only let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

Makoto could only smile back and bow her head, pleased with the warmth that simply permeated the place the moment she entered it. Akira too, for once, appeared somewhat shy - if not demure.

He politely introduced himself again and nodded respectfully to Sojiro before casually asking about Leblanc and how Makoto got wrapped up in it all.

By then, Makoto noticed that Ren was already seated in a booth next to Kasumi - well out of earshot for whatever she dreaded Sojiro would say.

“Well, Makoto-chan practically _lived_ here,” Sojiro joked before bellowing out a laugh. “She and the dumb kid I used to watch over,” he explained, nudging to his former ward across the room. “They were always up to no good.”

“Oh,” Akira blithely responded, conspicuously not laughing back. He grabbed a beer from the bar and a plate full of food that the older man had handed to him. Turning to Makoto, he tacked on a hasty, “You two must have _really_ loved coffee,” in a forcible attempt at camaraderie.

Sojiro laughed, being the good sport that he was. “Oh, and by the way,” he called out before the couple could get away, “don’t be a stranger, alright? We missed having you around, if I do say so myself.”

“Yes,” she answered a little flustered. “Thank you! I will!”

* * *

It didn’t take long for the whole room to swallow Akira whole.

Even figuratively speaking, it was difficult for Makoto to hold back a wistful sigh or two, wondering if she _should_ intervene - like the team mom she used to be.

“For real?! You have a car?!” Ryuji practically screeched.

 _Or_ , perhaps she should simply stand back, enjoy her food, and sit comfortably in her booth while the rest of the Phantom Thieves interrogated her boyfriend for everything he was worth. Futaba and Haru were the most eager, both of them alternating between personal questions about his background and education. By the time Futaba squeezed out his last name, Akira’s interrogator went down to one, as the prodigious hacker immediately consulted the internet where _everything_ was easily laid bare.

“ _Hmm…_ top of his class in high school?! Currently a pre-law major?! You’re almost _too_ perfect!” Futaba exclaimed at her phone.

The buzz didn’t help matters any, and soon the rest of the Thieves went back for more, finding such cold hard facts inadequate. Akira, meanwhile, could only politely smile and shoot a nervous glance at Makoto, hoping for a rescue _at some point_.

Makoto laughed to herself. She halfheartedly tossed the rice on her plate as she shook her head. The sound of silver scratching ceramic didn’t grate on her ears much, not when Sojiro’s old cassette player was blasting American holiday jingles at the back of the cafe to set the mood.

“I really am sorry for how they’re behaving.”

His voice - gentle and quiet as it was - snapped Makoto out of her reverie. He ambled up to the corner next to her booth, leaning against the wall with a cup of cocoa in hand.

Several feelings rushed through her mind, swept up in her own surprise as she bit back a gasp. Then a second was spent collecting herself. Her hands immediately went for her hair - checking they were in place before tucking a few straightened tresses behind her ear. The nervous tick went away (as Ren was delighted to notice, sipping away contented to see that perhaps some things don’t have to change), and soon the two settled into the quiet moment afforded them.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there,” she said, only mildly surprised now that the shock had washed over her.

For his part, Ren did all he could to affect something in between inviting and not-too-caring. He didn’t really have the courage to greet her earlier, not when she and her boyfriend were practically attached at the hip. It wasn’t that Ren was afraid or particularly intimidated by him. But there _were_ things - something of a history that he felt wouldn’t bode well in front of others. For instance…

“That watch,” he nudged towards her wrist. “You’re still wearing it.”

“Oh! Yes… Thank you,” Makoto spoke, even more bewildered. She lifted her left arm, letting the billowy sleeve of her dress bunch back as the band of silver gleamed orange beneath the multi-colored lights dangling from the ceiling. “It was a lovely present.”

“Yeah,” Ren blurted out before instantly regretting it. He quickly took another sip of his drink before thinking up something else. “It looks good on you.”

And to his surprise, Makoto neither blushed nor hemmed into another flustered fit of speechlessness. She simply smiled to herself - a small and demure smile where she pressed her legs together and simply kept a downcast gaze on the object in question.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Maybe things _did_ change over the past eight or so months since he last saw her. It was unrealistic to think otherwise.

“Why don’t you sit down?” she suddenly started up after a few seconds of fairly uncomfortable silence.

There was an awkwardness from the suggestion, and both Ren and Makoto inexplicably grew self-conscious from the politics of seating. He paused before _her_ side of the booth, instinctively falling into old habits of sitting close to “Queen” (for reasons having more to do with strategy than personal preference, of course). But the two blurted their haphazard “oh!”s and Ren muttered his nervous “nevermind!” when it started to sink in that she was saving the space for someone _else_. And before long, the two came to the tacit agreement that perhaps it was best they took seats across from each other. Ren ungracefully made his way to the other side, awkwardly facing the edge so as to bear witness to the boyfriend’s merciless interrogation.

Makoto for her part sat in an absentminded haze. Ren, sipping his cocoa from time to time, casually glanced at her, only to realize that Makoto had none of her own.

“Should I get you some cocoa?”

“No thank you. Though that’s very kind of you.”

Stilted. A little too stilted.

Why did he find it so hard to talk to her?

“Ann told me Kasumi-chan transferred to your school?”

Ren bit the corner of his lip.

“Yes she did.”

“I’m so glad!”

Makoto looked up from her meal to offer him a kind hearted smile.

“I’m so glad things are going well between you two. I was so happy when I heard you two were dating-...”

“...you were?”

“W-well, of course. Why wouldn’t I be happy for my friends?”

Something in that stung; not so much because Ren wanted Makoto to be _unhappy_. If anything, he was happy _she_ was happy. But he wasn’t stupid either. He knew when Makoto started to drop off from the face of the earth; when preparing for college was somehow a busier time than studying for her entrance exams _and_ Phantom Thief work. That it all coincided with when he started dating Kasumi stung. He never understood it. Jealousy couldn’t even explain it. Makoto never expressed interest in him, after all…

“What’s wrong?” she asked, startled by his crestfallen gaze.

He didn’t really _want_ the Christmas Party to be the day he finally broached the subject. He didn’t want it to be any time soon, for that matter. What he wanted was to say hi, greet her a happy holiday, and be on his merry way. But seeing as how they were left to their addled devices, the impulse was undeniable, and the words were at bunching up at his throat.

“It’s nothing,” he lied, “but I’m glad to see you. It’s been a while.”

“I am too. I wish I’d come back sooner...”

Again another heavy silence. The din over by the bar started to die down. Excitement over Akira simmered to a casual conversation.

“Senpai!” Kasumi squealed as she came bolting down the corridor towards them. The quirky redhead flung her arms around Ren’s neck, pulling him away from his seat. “Sakura-san is about to set up the karaoke machine on the TV! We should do a number together! Come on!”

“W-wait! Kasumi!”

Resistance was futile, or so they say. Despite her frame, Kasumi managed to pull Ren away from his booth, and all he could do was inaudibly mouth “ _sorry!”_ before being led by his girlfriend’s proverbial string.

“Have fun, you two!” Makoto yelled out.

She let her fork twist and turn in her rice and curry, mixing her meal without really daring to lift it for a bite. Her appetite wasn’t really with her that day, weirdly enough. Perhaps she could settle instead to ask Boss for some leftovers once the night was over.

* * *

Cafe Leblanc was known to be a quiet place - a small, rundown sanctuary for loners and introverts.

But on the evening of December 20th, it was a little of something else too.

“So…” Ann nudged Ren’s shoulder, wincing as Futaba belted her vocal chords to the tune of Kamen Rider’s opening theme.

Ren continued on silently. He stayed back, closer to the bar, as he watched their friends partake in karaoke with unbecoming reticence.

“What do you think?”

There was a knowing tone to her voice. She crossed her legs in her seat, twirling her hair with a devious grin.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Ann.”

“About Makoto’s boyfriend!”

Ren was beginning to wonder when she would come back with that. Given that it was _her_ idea for Ren to invite Makoto, surely there was _some_ attempt on matchmaking from their well-meaning friend.

“He seems like a nice guy.”

Coincidentally, his eyes fell to the other side of the room, where Makoto settled closely in a booth with her boyfriend. The two had been inseparable - touchy-feely even. He would never expect that sort of thing from her, if he was being honest.

Ann raised a questioning brow. After two years, she knew better than to settle for a surface reading of his clearly evasive words.

“You know, for ‘a nice guy,’ you don’t seem _that_ into getting to know him.”

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time to get to know each other.”

By the TV, Kasumi was practically hopping in place as Futaba’s turn came to an end. She had a selection picked out (perhaps a pop song that made it to her setlist for her last gymnastics meet). Though not much of a singer, Ren knew she enjoyed these sorts of performances where people clapped merrily along and cheered.

“Ryuji and I always thought it’d be _you_ and Makoto.”

Ren did a double take. He whipped his head to Ann, letting his arms fall to his side.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Yeah! I mean, you two were always together doing stuff. Even that fake dating thing with Eiko…”

Ren let out an aggravated sigh. “It was just to _help_ Eiko,” he said, somewhat sheepishly.

“C’mon relax! I was only teasing.”

Unfortunately, neither of them found it all too funny. The two stayed in their seats in a heavy and meaningful sort of silence, where drawn-out thoughts and regrets began to mix in with their demeanor.

“Either way, I hope he makes her happy,” Ann said more wistfully as she turned her attention to the couple in question.

“Yeah,” he agreed halfheartedly.

By then Kasumi’s turn at the karaoke machine started. Ren rose from his seat in order to move up and cheer her on.

* * *

“Tell us! How did you two meet?!”

Closer to the midnight hours, the group huddled together in the booth where Makoto and Akira were comfortably settled. Their tendency to stick together (and sneak kisses when no one was looking) renewed and re-piqued some interest, and soon the former Phantom Thieves were caught up in the thrilling details of their love story.

Haru was the most excited of them all. Perhaps, in the long time since they’ve all heard from Makoto, she was secretly hoping that her old friend had _at least_ found happiness elsewhere. Even if it was far away from the group she always thought of as home.

“Oh it was at a party,” Makoto answered nervously, brushing back her hair as she looked askance from her boyfriend.

Akira, who came prepared with a _different_ answer, clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Really, Mako-chan?” he teased affectionately.

Ren serendipitously managed to grab the seat across from the couple. Kasumi, who was not quite used to such large gatherings that ran into the night, hazily drooped to his shoulder in an innocent gesture to get closer. But none of that could quite capture his attention - not when Akira didn’t really try hiding how his hand fell so forcefully on Makoto’s thigh.

“What?!” Makoto fought back, a little too defensive. The blush on her cheeks told a different story. She neither reciprocrated nor repulsed him. By all accounts, she didn’t seem fazed by anything.

“We met at the library, remember? You spilled coffee all over my cart? You were carrying all these books, and-...”

“Heh, sounds like our Makoto, alright!” Ryuji piped up from behind the two. Ann grumbled and slapped him over his head for the rude interruption.

The adorable anecdote elicited something of a roar from the crowd. Everyone seemed to have their own personal reaction to the story, fighting to be heard and to land some witty retort. Makoto was pleased enough with it, at least. She was bashfully smiling at the praises they were all singing her boyfriend, but…

“Everything okay?” Ren asked quietly from his side of the table.

The question was directed at Akira, whose face was drained of all color. His hand shot away from Makoto’s knee, receding into his own seat despite the chatter surrounding him.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

Strangely enough, those were the first words they had spoken to each other all evening. Ren wasn’t _deliberately_ avoiding him. It’s just that he was quite content listening to the impromptu Q&A that the gang had imposed on Makoto and her new guest. He had no questions of his own.

“I could get you water-”

“No, it’s fine. _I’m fine_.”

For the first time that evening, a darkness fell over the other man’s face. Something crooked that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard your name earlier…”

“It’s Ren. Amamiya Ren,” he answered politely.

For a while, Akira said nothing. He seemed to mull over something, chewing his inner lip as his eyes fell on Ren.

The two held a tense gaze before Akira snapped out of it. He quickly turned to the rest of the group, donning a very polite smile. “Everyone’s been asking me a lot of questions, but I haven’t even had the chance to ask how you all know each other.”

Akira adjusted himself, leaning against his seat as he lazily draped an arm over Makoto. The rest of the Phantom Thieves looked up at him, somewhat surprised at the sudden change in topic.

Makoto, for her part, looked at him with nonplussed surprise. “I told you. We all went to the same high school-...”

“Yeah, but Mako-chan… Barely any of you are in the same class. And Kitagawa-kun,” he paused, looking over at Yusuke who had settled himself on a bar stool making eye-frames with his fingers at the scenery before him, “he doesn’t go to your school, does he? Neither does Futaba-chan belong in that grouping, it seems.”

Ren didn’t know why, but he never expected Makoto’s boyfriend to display such powers of deductive reasoning. He gulped inaudibly, and Kasumi - who had long ago dozed off on his shoulder - woke with a jolt as she re-gripped his arm.

“Hm, did I miss anything?” she asked mid-yawn.

For the first time that night, the whole cafe went silent. Ryuji, Ann, Haru, Yusuke, Futaba, and Morgana (who had quietly stalked around the corners as a definitely-normal-cat) stood stock still.

It had been a while. That much was true, but hard-earned instincts were difficult to lose. Ren’s heart didn’t even skip a beat when he looked up from the table and met Makoto’s gaze, who similarly looked to him whenever a plan of theirs fell through. Her eyes seemed to glisten with the tremor of uncertainty, and her shoulders tensed up visibly when she realized she was (quite foolishly) caught in her own lie.

“Futaba-chan is Boss’s daughter. I _told_ you,” she answered, forcing a smile on her face as she let _her_ hand fall gently on Akira’s knee in a loving gesture.

“And Yusuke came to this cafe a lot too,” Ren immediately jumped in. His eyes never left Makoto. “Boss bought one of his paintings during a charity event at Kosei.”

“Ah,” Akira mouthed, caught between the nagging suspicion that he had just been lied to and the genuine feeling of being impressed at _their_ reflexes. “I suppose that’s that.”

“Yeah,” Ren followed up dumbly.

Next to him, Kasumi rubbed her sleepy eyes and tried to shake herself awake. “Are we talking about how we all met?”

She wrapped her fingers around Ren’s, straightened and clammy as they were on the edge of the seat cushion.

“Sort of.”

“Well, what matters is we’re all here now, right?” Makoto picked up, smiling to brighten the suddenly tense atmosphere. She brushed her hand along the loose strands of Akira’s coif, pushing it back in an intimate gesture of fussing. “Together,” she stated plainly.

From his side of the booth, Ren gripped Kasumi’s hand tighter.

“That’s true,” Haru suddenly jumped in with her own ear-to-ear grin, “and we couldn’t be happier that _our_ Mako-chan found someone who makes her happy.”

“Sounds like a toast to me!” Sojiro bellowed from behind the counter. He raised a mug of coffee, flush with the excitement and nostalgia of seeing all his ragtag bunch of kids (plus one) in the cafe again. “To Makoto and Akira-...”

The rest of the group raised their respective glasses of hot chocolate, cocoa, and soda.

“May she come back more often, and may her boyfriend make _sure_ of it!”

Everyone laughed at his well-meaning joke, including Makoto. Her fingers wove into Akira’s as she smiled at him, hoping whatever tension that had sparked his questions would have vanished with everyone’s mirth and holiday cheer.

Meanwhile, Ren never let go of Kasumi’s hand. He never reached for his drink, and neither did he raise it for the toast.

“Take care of her, Akira-san,” Ren spoke up, raising his glass. “She is our Queen, after all.”

  



	5. Chapter 5

_“Hey Makoto! Wait!”_

She stopped right before the door. One arm stuck in the middle of a stubborn coat sleeve.

_“I’ll be in town for the rest of break. Kasumi too… ”_

_“Oh, that’s nice! That should give us plenty of time to catch up.”_

For the first time that night, he laughed wholeheartedly.

 _“Yeah,”_ he said dumbly. _“She’s looking forward to it.”_

_“Maybe we can double date, or something?”_

A longer pause fell between them.

_“Yeah…”_

Makoto stood awkwardly by the door, knowing fully that Akira waited just outside. _“Well, it was very nice to catch up, Ren. Maybe-...”_

 _“Makoto,”_ he cut in. _“I want you to have this. It’s a Christmas present.”_

_“Oh…”_

_“It’s not much. I got it after you told me you were coming.”_

_“I-... I’m so sorry. I didn’t get anything for you!”_

_“It’s okay.”_

_“No, it isn’t. I-... Um… oh no…”_

Ren laughed again.

_“Well if it matters that much to you, make it up to me by hanging out with us one of these days, okay? Just… don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.”_

Makoto shook her head.

_“No, at least let me open this now.”_

The silk ribbon on the box fell off, flitting down until it was forgotten on the dusty floorboards.

_“This is…”_

_“I thought of you when I saw it.”_

Makoto clutched the small thing tightly in her palm and pressed it against her chest.

_“Thank you.”_

_“I hope you like it.”_

_“I do. Ren, I-... I don’t even know what to say!”_

He scoffed, digging a hand into his pocket as he coyly looked away.

_“It’s nothing, really. You should go though. He’s probably cold outside.”_

_“Y-you’re right…”_

The two friends embraced. Holiday greetings were exchanged, and she snuck the small trinket box into her coat pocket.

Makoto left Leblanc with a mix of want and warmth in her heart.

* * *

_“A part of me was lost that day. She’s gone. I don’t hear her anymore. I know it’s a good thing, but -...”_

_“-...Ever since then, I’ve been going through life with a missing limb. The worst part is, I can’t tell anyone about it. Anyone but you, really.”_

* * *

Akira was surprisingly gentle that night. Not a second was wasted once they got back to his apartment. The door fell softly behind them, and in the darkness of his crowded space, Makoto fell into his arms and kissed him.

“Thank you for coming.”

The two were stopped up by the errant kitchen counter, making them recoiled further into each other from the impact. Somewhere nearby, a few abandoned dishes could be heard clinking.

“You had a good time, right?” Her gloved fingers smoothed over the curve of his jaw, tilting his chin lower so that - even in the dark - she could see the smooth outline of his face. Makoto dared another kiss or two, smiling all the while fearing that his silence meant more than she thought.

The apartment had gotten unbearably stuffy. Makoto suddenly remembered the snug fit of her coat and scarf, tightening like coils around her frame.

“Yeah,” Akira answered after a few breathless moments. “It was nice to meet your friends.”

Makoto sensed something strange in his tone. It was suspiciously devoid of feeling. The mere thought that she had done something to make him unhappy left a pinch in her throat. Her hand acted on reflex, and before long she cupped his cheek in a coaxing manner - forgetting all the while that a layer of leather fabric from her gloves had stolen all her warmth from him.

Akira didn’t mind. He laid his own palm gently on hers and held her for as long as he could.

“What did he have to say?”

“Hm?” she asked, bewildered at the mention of _some_ other guy.

“Before we left, your friend…” he began. Akira tugged at the seam of her glove as he held her hand, sliding it off the lithe frame of her fingers in one delectable motion. It wasn’t any less electrifying when he repeated it a second time for her other hand. “I saw you were talking to him while I waited outside.”

“Oh,” she mouthed audibly. “It’s nothing really. He was telling me that Kasumi-chan wanted to go on double dates.”

To that, Akira grinned. Something in that devilish grin was completely unreadable to Makoto. Tension nevertheless tugged at the corners of his mouth, and - even in the totally lightless surroundings - she could have sworn his gray eyes shimmered with something else entirely.

“They make a cute couple, don’t they?”

“Yes, I think you’re right.”

The words they were saying were mere nothings - pretenses for another rush of kisses. By then, Akira was already removing his trench coat in hurried motions. The weight of it fell with a thud on the floor. Meanwhile, Makoto stood idly by. She leaned back from the edge of the kitchen counter as he slowly unbuttoned her peacoat for her.

Strange how color worked. Even after Makoto’s coat whispered down to the floor, the deep crimson of her dress shone in sharp contrast to the dark. A sliver of moonlight peeped through the one small window afforded to his apartment, and for a moment it glowed on her skin a pale, bluish hue. Gentle and slow, his hands traced the lace pattern for all its swirls and curves. It didn’t matter that she could feel the pressure from his hands through the sheer fabric; or that - before long - he was already hiking up the hem of her dress above her hips.

“I love you,” she whispered, perching her chin on his shoulder as her arms clung tightly around his neck.

Akira didn’t say anything, mysteriously enough. He was content instead with lathering even more kisses where there were some more left to give - down the nape of her neck to frilly neckline that swooped well below her chest.

Makoto gave a soft, mousy squeal when she felt the jolt of his arms lift her onto the counter.

“Wait!”

Like always, Akira ignored her half-hearted pleas. His hand went immediately where she didn’t think he would go, and the two were tangled up in a pile of heavy breaths and softly stifled mewls.

Makoto rode the rhythm of his hand like lilting waves. It didn’t matter that there were layers of fabric between them. Neither the lace of her underwear nor the sheer fabric of her tights could stop it from feeling as good as it did.

“Let me take off my clothes,” she offered, making sure to be coy while leaving a soft kiss on his temple.

“It’s okay.”

Akira was being uncharacteristically terse, but he was gentle all the same. His free hand wrapped lovingly around her jaw, holding her steady so their eyes met even in the dark.

Makoto bit back another moan as she felt the inside of her thigh brush up against the bulge of his erection. Both her hands were too busy keeping herself upright on the counter. The pull of her back arching along the frantic push of his caresses were all she could focus on.

By then it was strange that he hadn’t exactly torn off her clothes, or that he wasn’t already making his way inside her, rutting in bursts that she could never control. It was as frightening as it was thrilling, and Makoto could only wince in her confusion.

“I want to take care of you,” she pleaded again. Her words sounded frail compared to the harsh gasps and breathing.

“Not yet.”

Sometimes it surprised her when his experience showed. Anytime she dared to close her eyes and drown in the smooth motions of his handiwork, Akira would press her where she didn’t know she needed to be pressed, and she was back to yelling those barely suppressed cries for his name.

It was hard to see with all the lights out, and it was even harder to keep a focus on his face. She was practically bouncing with the increasingly forceful ministrations of his hands. The only steady point was the self-same glimmer in his eyes, steely and gray in the moonlight.

“Mako-chan,” he finally spoke, albeit in the rush of her own meld of noises.

Makoto couldn’t answer. Her hands simply clung tighter to the edge of the counter, trying to remain balanced while allowing herself the delicious thrill of friction and moisture building up between her thighs.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing changed in his expression. Even in the dark, she could see that he maintained something cold and impassive in his demeanor.

“I want you,” she answered playfully, daring to be coy in the snares of his own game. Makoto rolled her hips against the pivot of his wrist, hoping he’d continue to play along and let her have this evening.

To that he could only smile, pressing himself close to her as he dared to fight against her clothes. There was little ceremony involved when he dipped his fingers into her. She was a mix of everything at that moment, and he wanted nothing more than to tear the tights off her legs and let go of the fragile mask of patience he had worn just for the occasion.

“You’re a liar, Mako-chan,” he said, smiling.

Makoto could see that struggle in him clear as day. She didn’t know when exactly she felt it, but for the first time, she understood that she really _did_ fall for Akira. That something about his hunger made _her_ hungry, and she couldn’t imagine any other arms to be in but his; any mouth to kiss but his. At that moment, it no longer mattered that seven months ago she allowed herself something she shouldn’t have; or that he was working her with all the knowledge gained from fruitless pursuits and half-earned conquests. He read her moves and mewls for what they were, and - even with all her clothes in tact - she never felt more naked.

“Akira…” she whimpered, unable to offer any protest.

As far as Makoto knew, orgasms were few and far in-between - mere incidents in the grand scheme of things. But that night, Makoto fevered under the frustration of constraints wrapping all over her. The quick bursts of his ministrations had her toes curling against the tightened space of her heels, and the numbing vertigo of shame, embarrassment, desire, and unbidden joy rolled through her at once like a shudder.

Akira drowned her noises with a forceful kiss, and she was content to simply let herself ride him until the spasms tapered off with the unfeeling heat that seized her legs.

When they finally parted, Makoto allowed herself to breathe and steady her listless gaze.

Akira withdrew his hand, raising it up to her face where he traced a line from her cheek to her mouth. It started to taste delicious by then. The flat of his thumb pushed past her lips, and Makoto took it in, sucking while she relished in the free-floating haze of her climax.

For a while, they said nothing. After Akira let go of her, Makoto’s head fell against his chest, her bare forehead pressing against the cotton fabric of his shirt. The two embraced in the heady languor of what they had just done. By then, his erection had come and gone, and Makoto knew that his tightlipped silence spoke more than he could ever say.

“You’re right,” she whispered low. Her voice trembled with the confession that stopped at the tip of her tongue. Heat started to sear her eyes, hinting at the watery blur ready to burst.

“People like me…-”

Free to move again, her hands drifted from the cold counter to the warmth of his clothes, clutching at the lapel of his blazer so she could get even closer. The fabric smelled of whiskey and smoke - no doubt remnants of his many nights spent drinking with friends. It didn’t matter, though. She loved the smell of him. She would want nothing more than to always be this close to him.

“-... people like me don’t deserve to be happy.”

Akira said nothing. He seemed to know everything and nothing at once. Even if the details were a little hazy, the picture she painted for him that evening was all he needed. Makoto was in love with someone else, and he happened to be _there_.

In truth, he wanted nothing more than to tell her that she was free to do what she wanted. That _being_ with him wasn’t something he demanded. It was enough - their time together. He was going to be content with that.

But…

Holding her close, he had gotten used to the smell of her too. The scent of her shampoo, the fragrance of generic fabric softener clinging to all her clothes, and the intoxicating meld of flower and fruit that she always seemed to be. He didn’t know if he had the courage to say any of that, after all.

“Makoto,” he finally spoke, gazing at her softly and draping his arms around her so he could swallow her whole.

Makoto shot up from where she was buried in his shirt. Her watery eyes glistened with the itinerant moonlight, staring at him in stunned silence.

Why would he ever call her that?

Akira’s hands pinched the tip of her chin and tilted her ever more upwards so their eyes were truly meeting that night.

“I don’t want anyone else to have you.”

Akira was weak. He was shaking from how weak he realized he was.

Makoto, on the other hand, could only let a single tear slither down the curve of her cheek. She breathed a sigh of relief, smiling as she spoke in a tearful stammer, “I don’t want anyone else!”

She fell from the counter to her knees, hugging his legs as she left kisses down his belted waistline. Makoto let her hands travel to the seam of his pants, all the while relishing the work of _his_ hands combing through her hair.

“I love you! No one else but _you_!”

She drowned her pleas with her own stifled sobs and took him in. At that moment, Makoto wanted nothing more than to hold him.

* * *

_“Had I cared enough, I would have done something!”_

_“... People like me, must really be what others call scum of the earth…”_

* * *

Kasumi was a sweet girl, and she was even sweeter in his arms.

“Ren-kun!” she squealed, laughing from the ticklish kiss he gave her along her neck.

She smiled back at him with a candied sort of sweetness that had defined for Ren what he had found attractive about her. Laying next to his side, her long red hair fanned out in silky strands all over his bed.

In the attic of Leblanc, the two huddled for warmth beneath his comforter. The electric heater was broken, and that wintry night in December happened to be colder than ever.

“Did you have fun at the party?” she asked innocently. The two had stopped with their fumbling and settled instead for a cuddle. Kasumi was small enough to fit snugly in his arms, and that was a comfort on its own.

“And I’m glad Makoto-senpai came,” she added. “I know you’ve been worried about her for a while now…”

Ren looked up from his pillow, craning his neck to peer at her with a stunned and curious expression.

“What do you mean?”

Truth be told, he never spoke of Makoto to anyone, let alone to Kasumi. Ann’s phone call was the first excuse he had in a while to say her name out loud.

“Oh, nothing,” his girlfriend sighed. “It’s just that, when she comes up in conversation, you always have this worried look in your eyes. I can tell it bothered you that she hadn’t been answering your texts…”

Ren bit his lip at that. True enough, Sojiro or Haru _would_ ask about Makoto whenever reunions happened. It was especially prominent when he visited for the school festival. But a ‘worried look’? It felt like an overstatement.

For her part, Kasumi tried to avert her gaze, not willing to face the panic-stricken fear in his eyes anytime she mentioned that _other_ woman’s name. Truth be told, Kasumi never liked Makoto. In fact, she never _understood_ Makoto. Prim, proper, and a little uptight if she had to be honest. And it’s not like Kasumi didn’t _try_ either. Anytime she enthusiastically called out to Makoto back in their days at Shujin or begged for a little lunch date, the painful pinch of rejection would already be present in her red eyes. It hurt even more that Makoto was clearly too busy for Kasumi, but not for Ann, Haru… or the rest of the Thieves for that matter. Even after some distance, Makoto managed to say barely anything to Kasumi at the Christmas party.

The upperclassman and former “Queen” of the group was and always will be unapproachable.

“Either way,” she tacked on with a distracted smile, “I’m glad we could be here for the party. _I_ had lots of fun!”

Ren reclined on his folded arm, using it as a pillow given the flattened state of the ones Sojiro failed to replace. His mind drifted to the party and to the “fun” they all had. Sure enough, the recent memory of it blurred into remembrances of Sojiro’s delicious cooking, Futaba’s entertaining karaoke antics, and all the other unbridled energy the Phantom Thieves have always had. Yet Ren couldn’t help but recall something else entirely: an image of Makoto sitting far away from the group, nestled in the protective barrier of her boyfriend’s arms as they contented themselves with low whispers and subtly unheard laughter. Fun, indeed. He _barely_ had time to catch up with any of them.

“Did she like your present?”

It was then that Ren felt Kasumi hug his waist. The blankets ruffled with the movement, and he found himself caught in the puzzling influence Makoto seemed to have on their otherwise pleasant evening together.

“Yeah. I think so,” he said curtly, ready to drop the subject.

“I’m glad,” she said again. Kasumi was starting to worry she was sounding like a broken record. “You two always liked those Yakuza movies. I can’t stand how intense they are…”

She scrunched her face, pinching her eyes shut as she hugged her boyfriend even tighter.

“Thought she’d like something from the old days,” he said, shrugging in place. “That’s all.”

 _The old days_ , Kasumi repeated mentally. What were the ‘old days’ exactly?

Kasumi didn’t recall them very pleasantly. All she remembered was the relentless need to shadow Ren; to be by his side and hope that he and his friends would at the very least _notice_ her. That it was such a slow and arduous process was something _they_ certainly wouldn’t remember.

Another pinch caught her throat.

‘They?’

Unbeknownst to her, Kasumi’s arms were practically suffocating Ren. She didn’t really want to think about it, much less give in to the warm and shaky swelling in her throat. That she couldn’t even group herself with them in her mind was its own brand of hurt she wasn’t willing to acknowledge. She was never part of the Phantom Thieves, and it seemed she never will be.

But Makoto? She could disappear and never speak to any of them for a hundred years, and she would _still_ be missed and welcomed and loved and fawned over and-...

 _No_.

Kasumi bit down on her lip. Now wasn’t the time to be jealous. She should remember whose arms she was in and whose victory counted for more…

“What’s the matter?” Ren asked playfully, rolling to his side so he could face her. The sheets reshuffled, and the crates beneath the mattress shifted with their motions. “You’re making that face again.”

“N-nothing!” Kasumi squeaked. She burrowed into her chest, hoping for more of the warmth now that the temperatures outside were getting cooler.

Ren’s hand ran up the ridges of her spine, tracing lines until he reached the strands of her hair. There was something comforting in the motions. Like spinning a thread of red, he relished in the mere act of distractedly knotting her hair through his fingers.

“Just tell me.”

“It’s nothing!”

Ren sighed. As far as he knew, Kasumi was usually a relentless ball of energy. It was rare for her to sink in these glum, self-contained changes in her mood. Lying next to him, he chewed the inside of his cheek amid his contemplation, inching closer on the pillow so their foreheads butted against each other.

“You’re pouting,” he said slyly before planting a kiss on her nose. “I like it when you pout.”

 _That_ seemed to do the trick. Kasumi bit down on her giggles, trying to mask how flustered he would make her with these random gestures of affection.

“Senpai!” Kasumi whined, parroting what she knew he liked.

Before long, Ren too was caught in the infectiousness of her laughter, and he sank back into her, tickling her sides as he wrapped his arms around her lithe frame.

“You’re adorable too, you know.”

“Too?” she asked bashfully. “Does senpai think someone else besides Kasumi is cute?” She made sure to add a soft sort of whinny to her voice, puckering up her cheeks and nuzzling the nape of his neck with her scrunched up nose.

“No, just ‘Kasumi,’” he reassured her.

When it was only them - alone like they had been ever since the Phantom Thieves had disbanded - Ren found it easy to forget. The good ‘old days’ were fond to remember from time to time, but now that the party was over, his heart was a little weary of reminiscing. He settled instead into her skin, kissing her in the hopes they’d fall peacefully asleep and forget everything else.

* * *

The following morning, Makoto texted Ren:

_“Thank you so much for the movie charm! I’ll attach it to my phone. ...I can’t believe you still remember that I wanted it after all this time!”_

_“Anyway, please greet Kasumi-chan for me. Text me before you both leave town. See you around :)”_


	6. Chapter 6

_December 24th, 2016_

The cake was the most beautiful she had ever seen. It sat in its full sugary splendor, taking center stage at an elegant display of a bakery’s storefront window. There were many places like this in Shibuya, but on Christmas Eve, it was the only store that had one.

“I like this one,” Ren said, adding a decisive emphasis to his tone.

He took his gaze away from the deftly arranged sweets and turned instead to Makoto, who still stood in front of the window with a look of effortful concentration.

She pinched her chin with the tip of her fingers, cocking her head to one side as she hemmed and sighed. “It _is_ the last one,” she mumbled. “But sis isn’t really a fan of chocolate cake…”

To that Ren could only chuckle, slouching back to step away from the display and shake his head disapprovingly. The golden light from the bakery shone soft on his gray eyes like candlelight - never mind how dark and dreary the snowy Christmas eve was fast becoming.

“Has your sister _ever_ liked cake?”

_True_ , Makoto thought. Sae wasn’t known for having a sweet tooth, much less keeping up with the pointlessness of tradition. Makoto couldn’t even remember the last time Sae brought home cake for the holiday.

Sighing, she sank back into herself, breathing heavily as the chilled air swept through their flimsy coats. “You’re right,” she admitted, “but I thought, given what we’ve accomplished, it wouldn’t hurt to try…”

_‘What we’ve accomplished’_ must have been the biggest understatement of the year, if ever. The past year had been absolutely _surreal_ to Ren, and the last 24 hours alone was its own grueling ordeal. Still, at the cusp of their hard-won victory, Ren could only mime Makoto’s lethargy, feeling the weight of his bones as memories of a momentous (and now long gone) battle flitted through his mind. He dug his hands into his pockets and kicked back the piled up snow with his shoe, daring to inch closer

“Then we should try,” he offered. “Come on, let’s go…”

“Wait, Ren! Actually, I-...”

He gave her hand a tug, but she wouldn’t budge.

So they stood in front of the bakery display, their hands locked at an impasse as one tried to move while the other couldn’t. The golden light from inside cast stark shadows on their figures. One was taller, and one was much shorter.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly afraid that he had done something he shouldn’t have. He snatched his hand away, careful to keep to himself this time.

For her part, Makoto’s eyes fell sullenly to the ground. Her unmoving hands tightly gripped each other before her lap, clenching and winding until they reddened from the tension. Around them, the flakes started to drizzle and sprinkle a dusting of white snow over their coats.

“Tell me something,” she whispered. Though her head was still bent low, her red eyes rolled upward in a mousy, pleading sort of way. It was then that Makoto’s lips quivered. “What were you talking about with my sister?”

Ren started back. His mouth opened and closed within the span of a second, hashing up something as the words swelled in his throat.

“I saw her,” she continued, looking even more crestfallen with each second of his silence. “She came up to you after we defeated that false god. But, I just have this feeling…”

“Listen, Makoto-”

“Sis has a good poker face, I know,” Makoto interrupted. The tremor in her voice was audible now, and her red eyes were shining with a watery glimmer. “But _you_ don’t.” By then Makoto stood firmer, stamping one foot into the piling snow. “She said something that upset you. I could tell.”

Ren had to choose his words carefully.

Sae-san had warned him: if he was going to protect his friends - especially Makoto - he would have to keep their deal a secret. She was staunch about that _one_ condition.

_“You know her,”_ Sae had ominously warned. _“She would jump at the chance to save you, even if it means putting herself in danger_.”

Standing before Makoto now, on this ruse to distract her with the hunt for a Christmas Cake, Ren couldn’t help but kick himself for the bitter irony of it all. His best friend saw right through him, and there was _nothing_ he could think of to throw her off his trail. Ren’s heart beat wildly in his chest, thumping with each moment as he dumbly lingered with indecision.

“The store’s going to close soon,” he finally spoke. “We should hurry and grab the cake before someone else-”

“Ren!”

Makoto was pouting - that serious and nervous pout she wore whenever it was apparent that things were now beyond her control. Her knees wobbled against the frigid breeze, and her arms clung to her sides, hugging herself shabbily for a bit of warmth.

“I told you,” she persisted, “‘you can rely on me when you need it. I’-”

“-you won’t go easy if I hold back. I remember,” he finished for her, nodding off to the side now that melancholy had rested on his features. The memory went back seasons before: in the prime of summer when all their cares whittled down to the existential and self-destructive crises of Eiko’s teen malaise. Ren could almost laugh, thinking fondly of their time together - fake dating and all.

“So why won’t you rely on me?” she murmured, hugging herself pathetically.

It was an easy enough question, or so Makoto thought. Whatever the reasons behind their conversation might be, it was clear he _thought_ he was protecting Makoto from something. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. She bit down on her lip with an earnest plea that he reconsider.

The two stood awkwardly in front of the store entrance, lost in the murkiness of their glum thoughts. Ren’s hands curled into fists in his jacket pocket, pushing nervously against the threads as he scrambled for a way out.

“I rely on you,” he answered after a few moments. “I rely on you a lot, actually.”

_That_ wasn’t a lie. Ren couldn’t even think of all the times Makoto saved him in the heat of battle; or, more memorably, in the basement of a secret interrogation room beneath the police station. Watching how she stood so timidly before him, he didn’t think it was possible to ask more of her, much less to embroil her in this thorny legal issue that only _he_ could solve.

“Hey Makoto,” he started up again, softer this time.

Makoto looked up at him, surprised by the jarring shift in his tone.

“Remember when I said we should be study partners?”

Her reflex was to laugh. In fact, she almost snorted. Makoto’s hand fanned over her mouth as she stifled back the abrupt and rather embarrassing reprieve from the tension. “Of course I do,” she practically murmured once her laughter had tapered off. “It was such a cheesy joke!”

To that, Ren could only smile back. Although, he would be lying if he denied that sadness dogged his eyes, or that a slight murmur gnawed at his heart when - for a second time - she dismissed his rather cryptic confession as nothing more than a joke.

“What about it?” she asked, suddenly puzzled. Makoto watched him intently, brows furling with concern when he withdrew into a tightlipped silence.

_I meant it_ , he wanted to say.

“Nothing,” he said instead, faltering in his resolve to say _something_ now that he risked neck and limb to keep the world a better place. Ren ambled back up to Makoto, bridging the uncomfortable distance that had grown between them. Though they managed to stay friends, it was a close and intimate friendship he would never give up for the world. “Let’s go buy that cake,” he said in a low whisper.

Makoto, peering up at him from her diminutive stature, watched as flakes of snow began to cover his dark, tousled hair.

“Are-... are you sure?”

The question stopped with an inexplicable shortness in her breath. She was right all along, after all: Ren never had such a good poker face. It was enough to see the hint of a frown tug at his lips, or the rather abrupt vanishing of warmth as a blustery wind chilled them to the bone. Makoto couldn’t help but clutch at _something_ shriveling up within her chest.

“Your sister’s probably waiting up for you,” he added before grabbing hold of her wrist. “Come on. We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Makoto wanted to say more. She wanted to protest more, but something in her gave way. She let her body trail after Ren, who walked an even brisker pace than before. The rest of it was a whir: the bright lights, the aroma of baked goods fresh out of the oven, and the clamor of other patrons waiting for their last-minute dessert. Shibuya was always full of those types of people - the kind who waited until the very last second; or the kind who waited until it was much too late.

By the time Makoto and Ren arrived at the counter, the apologetic cashier bowed her head low in deep regret.

That cake had already been claimed, and they were fresh out of Christmas desserts.

Somehow, Ren wasn’t surprised that they left the bakery and parted ways, completely empty-handed.

* * *

December 23rd, 2017

It was an unusually balmy December afternoon, and Makoto already found herself sweating.

She wiped the back of her ungloved hand against her forehead, searching desperately around for friends yet to come. Waiting was usually no big deal. In any friend group, Makoto’s punctuality often left her stranded by some landmark or another, stoically weathering crowds and the clamor of her thoughts until one _eventually_ showed up.

That particular “shopping date” was no different. Ann had scheduled it for last minute present-hunting, and Makoto was all the more willing to make up for lost time.

She raised her wrist and bunched back one of her sleeves. The time on her wristwatch showed a steady 17 minutes had gone by past the appointed time, and the day was only growing more humid and _uncomfortable_. Ann had already texted a few minutes prior that she had to cancel - something about a last-minute gig, or so the part-time modeled laconically explained over text. Still, there were two others…

“-Hey!” a familiar voice called out from behind.

Makoto turned with a sharp gasp. “Ren?! Where’s Kasumi?!” She was expecting _both,_ in fact, and it was at _her_ own express request. If they were all going back to school soon, she might as well make the most out of their break and drag them along on errands, if not hangouts. Still, the first-year college student couldn’t help but pout with worry at the sudden turn of events. Looking this way and that, she peered around the taller figures crowding around her for a sign of Kasumi’s conspicuously red hair, but none such sign came…

Ren, meanwhile, practically jogged and pushed past the congested streets to make it anywhere close. He stopped short of Makoto, resting his hands on his knees as he panted from exhaustion. “I tried to make it as fast as I could…”

“You shouldn’t have exerted yourself! It’s an unusually warm day too! Here...”

“No, I'm okay! I-... is that a water bottle?!”

Makoto rummaged through her purse at a frantic pace. Ren could hear her shove things around in the thing with utmost force, and he even caught a glimpse of that determined bite of her lip. By the time the generic brand water bottle emerged, he could only smile to himself.

“I packed it just in case. You wouldn’t want to get dehydrated given the unpredictable weather. Here, take it!”

Ren hardly had the time to process anything before she shoved the thing onto his hand. Its pliably plastic shape squeezed against his palm, but the coolness was welcoming.

“Thanks,” he said, somewhat apologetic for the fuss he was causing. “This is so like you, y’know?”

Makoto didn’t say anything to that. In fact, she was very unnaturally, if not stubbornly, reserved.

A slight, somewhat uncomfortable feeling hovered over them as Ren turned slightly, suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed. Even after he twisted the cap off and promptly downed its contents, he couldn’t help but look askance at the girl next to him. Makoto stood there, watching intently with that staunch and uncompromising gaze of hers whenever she made a directive.

“I uh… sorry about that,” he said once the formality was over. Ren held onto the water bottle rather awkwardly, letting it fall to his side as he sank back to the usual slouch of his posture.

“Of course,” Makoto replied, business as usual. She rearranged the contents of her purse and zipped it up with hardly a hair out of place. “But where’s Kasumi-chan? I thought you said you both were coming?”

Ren brushed back a bit of his sweaty hair, gathering himself a bit. “Kasumi’s still at practice. Her coach thought she might need the extra time, ‘cause you know - the season’s about to start.”

“Oh!” Makoto piped up, surprised. “That’s too bad…” She made sure to frown, averting his gaze to express her disappointment at such an unfortunate chink in their plans. “In any case, I wish her luck. I didn’t realize she would have to work so late into the holiday.”

Ren shrugged, kicking a non-existent rock off the ground as he idly fumbled about with his coat pockets.

“Actually,” he started up again, wistfully looking askance, “it might be a good thing. I haven’t gotten Kasumi anything for Christmas, and I was hoping we’d find something today.”

Makoto raised an incredulous brow. “You haven’t?!” Her voice squeaked with more than disbelief, cinched somewhere between surprise and inexplicable disappointment. She was hoping, even had Ann managed to make it, that the ‘couples’ portion of presents would stay private.

“Yeah,” he answered somewhat apologetically, “I haven’t really had time to get it on my own…” There was more to be said about that, but Ren bit down and instinctively hid his explanation. He especially didn't want to add in the part about how he and Kasumi hadn’t been apart for even one moment since their return to Tokyo.

He saw the flash in Makoto’s eyes - that telltale glimmer of an emotion that she had immediately snuffed out. The familiarity of it all was somewhat of a shell shock to Ren, who found it uncanny to see such an old expression after so many months of her absence.

“We should get started,” he said, feigning an absentminded glance at his wristwatch. “Don’t wanna get stuck in long lines,” he tacked on. His head lowered sheepishly from the unfunny attempt.

“You’re right,” Makoto readily agreed, her voice ostensibly low.

A newfound silence hungover the two friends, awkward and heavy as it was compared to the surrounding din of the Shibuya crowd. The unusual December heat had only made it overbearing, stifling the two in their frumpy winter coats (the aftermath of their stubborn denial of the weather).

“Well, I have a list-...”

“I’m not really sure where to-...”

The two stopped, feeling the jolt of their premature starts.

“Oh, I-...”

“Sorry, you were-...”

And again, they fumbled halfway through their stopped up words. Ren smiled, mildly embarrassed at how ridiculously awkward he was being. “Uh, you go,” he took the initiative.

“It’s nothing! But...” she hurriedly reassured him. “I have a list of what stores to visit first - if you don’t mind. I planned it around the shopping center's layout, but if you have something else in mind I can go along and-...”

To that Ren could only laugh, running a flustered hand down the back of his head. It was even funnier when Makoto rummaged through her purse once more, shaking its contents to retrieve a neatly folded sheet of paper. Somehow, he had a feeling she _would_ have a game plan. “Nah, I trust you,” he joked, without really joking.

In a lot of ways, many things haven’t changed. And why should they? Makoto found herself wondering just that. Try as she might, she could never seem to shake off Ren from her life - her self-proclaimed ‘best friend,’ as he used to say. It was apparent even then, as he walked off ahead of her, leading without really knowing where the commercial venture would take them. But that was his style, wasn’t it? The question hung in her thoughts, amidst the pleasantry of what small talk they could have as she followed behind. Being for so long in his shadow, Makoto further wondered if Ren knew, exactly, how much taller he had grown since he last led her about. Now, it seemed that her head could no longer reach his shoulders.

“Ren wait!” she called out in a struggle to keep up with his brisk pace. “You’re going the wrong way!”

“Oh…”

And the two turned, side by side. The throngs of last-minute shoppers made way when the pair flowed against the traffic.

* * *

“How about... this one?”

Makoto held up a ceramic ornament molded in the shape of a ballerina. Something in its elegance and understated beauty _surely_ made it prime Christmas present material.

Ren bit down on his lip, perching his chin on his knuckles in brief contemplation. “I don’t know… seems like something for a kid.” He gave a shrug of his shoulder, turning away from the display table partly in exasperation and partly from the growing sense of dread building up in his chest.

The store they visited specialized in holiday novelties - trinkets and things that people would otherwise not pay any mind had it _not_ been Christmas season. But Ren and Makoto had been in a frantic search for hours now, weaving in and out of packed stores and the endless loop of bubbly Christmas music.

“Well, we can always settle for a gift certificate, if nothing else.” Makoto placed the ornament delicately back on its cushioned display, trailing behind the increasingly frustrated Ren. “Surely Kasumi-chan has a restaurant she wants to try in Tokyo?”

Ren shrugged. Stern and somewhat terse as he was, not even his mannerisms could mask how thin his patience had gotten. He wasn’t exactly upset or angry. In fact, he was far from it. Stalking down the aisles of glittering red, white, and green, he was becoming _afraid_. Picking out a gift for Makoto a few weeks before was stupidly easy - serendipitously so! But why was he running into so much trouble for his own girlfriend? The hurt on Kasumi’s face should he show up empty-handed on Christmas day was becoming more and more vivid in his mind.

Distracted, if not mentally elsewhere, Ren didn’t realize the flurry of his steps as he quickly finished out their haphazard browsing of the store. The two briskly made their way out, returning to the frenzy of the sunset-basked streets. Makoto practically broke out in half-skips and half-jogs to keep up. If the shopping bags in her hands hadn’t flopped around so noisily, Ren would never have noticed how winded Makoto had gotten.

“Oh!” he said dumbly, turning as they stopped near another store entrance. Ren frowned and immediately tried to grab the bags from his friend. “Sorry, I just-... I was worried we wouldn’t find-... Makoto?!”

The flat of his palm fell on hers in his attempt to be more courteous, but the gesture froze as he felt the stinging coolness of her skin. Ren could sense the color of _his_ own face drain upon seeing the sickly pallor of hers. Makoto was panting before him, if not heaving desperate breaths. Her other hand gripped his outstretched hand, and the wobbliness of her balance became all too apparent. Ren was overcome with the urge to stay stock still.

“Makoto, hey! What’s wrong?!”

“Ren, I’m sorry. I feel a little-...”

Makoto’s hand rose to her forehead more out of impulse than any sense that she knew what she was doing. An icy numbness crawled from the tips of her fingers, and it took her all to swallow back the sickly air threatening to spill out. Soon, her legs caved, and she could see nothing save the bleary figures of shapes and shadows.

“Makoto!”

Ren held onto both her arms, half cradling her as her body went limp in front of him.

If she had been pale before, she now practically looked lifeless. Ren’s body swayed with the pull of her weight, doing his best to muster untapped strength to stop her from hitting the ground.

“I-... I’m so sorry!” she whispered, eyes glazed over as she clung to bits of her consciousness.

“No, it’s okay. Here, let’s go to the side-...”

Nearby pedestrians shot them wary looks, circling around the couple as if an unseen perimeter had been set. Ren did his best to discreetly drag Makoto to a nearby wall, letting her cling to him all the while.

It had only been seconds, but seconds dragged like centuries for Ren. His heart beat frantically at the thought that Makoto’s hands still felt icy to the touch, and the color wasn’t necessarily returning to her face either.

“I think I need to call for help,” he muttered, more to himself than to Makoto. His brows furled with intense concern.

“No, please! I feel lightheaded, that’s all!”

She smiled, unconvincing as it was. Even as control returned slowly to her limbs, Makoto’s body still swayed with an overwhelming sense of nausea. Her fingers clutched the sleeve of Ren’s jacket, afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry.” His voice dripped with more than concern. There was fear in his eyes, reeling as he was from the memory of how dangerous and frightening it was to see someone almost faint. “I didn’t even realize how hard I was pushing you...”

“N-no… I’m fine… I promise.”

Makoto’s hand fanned over her mouth. Something threatened to come out, and she didn’t know what.

“You’re _not_ fine,” he argued back. His heart thrashed against his chest, nervous and terrified that he had done something to hurt her.

“I’m just tired,” she insisted, tacking on a smile to quell a bit of his panic. Still, Makoto was breathing jagged breaths, and her knees were practically buckling from her own weight. “Give me a minute, and I’ll be fine…” Yet something in the frightful look on his face told her that Ren remained unconvinced. She did her best to control her breathing, masking the shortness of it all the while averting her gaze. The glaring light of the sunset and the brightening neon signs of the surrounding stores were beginning to be too much. “It’s probably low-blood sugar. I haven’t had anything to eat today,” she hurriedly explained, feeling silly all the while.

Ren turned and frantically scanned the area. The crowd was bustling, packed with nameless faces as they thronged around the two. He knew there was a cafe they could probably stop in nearby, but it was quite a walk. “I’ll find food for you-”

“No! Ren! There’s no need-”

“You just said you were hungry.”

“N-no, I’m not, actually. I simply can’t eat right now!”

Makoto heaved again. The nausea was becoming overwhelming. “Please,” she murmured once the sickliness dissipated, “give me a moment. I’ll be okay.”

Ren stood in tightlipped silence, unwilling to give in but also unwilling to argue with Makoto when she looked _so_ pale and weak. Of all the exhausting things the Phantom Thieves had been subjected to - the painful injuries, the late-night excursions, or the grueling fights - he had _never_ seen Makoto look so frail before.

“Let me take you home,” he decided after a quick and desperate internal debate with himself.

“But Kasumi-chan… You won’t have a present for her.” Her grip on his sleeve grew tighter. Makoto didn’t know why, but she felt shame and guilt swell in her chest, as if she had been responsible for a tragedy about to come.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Ren insisted, earnestly pleading with Makoto through the worry that shone in his gray eyes. He did his best to steady her, holding onto her arms and propping her up as a way to keep the weight off her legs. “What matters is that you’re safe. If Kasumi knew, she’d understand.”

His reasoning was foolproof. In the end, even something as momentous as a Christmas present from one’s boyfriend paled in comparison to a potentially dangerous situation. But - nibbling her lower lip - Makoto was unable to suppress the doubts creeping in. A voice - tiny and mousy - spoke the accusation she could never face; that _she_ made herself weak on purpose; that _she_ would push herself as hard as she did, only to do something as selfish as what she was doing. She saw that accusation in Akira’s eyes whenever they spent time together. Ever since the Christmas party, he would always look at her with cold indifference. It didn’t help that, in recent days, he had suddenly been too busy working to spend much of their free time together.

Now? Why exactly had she agreed to go shopping with Ren, even if Kasumi and Ann came along as planned?

Another wave of nausea fanned over her stomach, cutting through her thoughts as she covered her mouth once more.

Ren looked over with unrelenting fear. He ran a hand over her back, patting her between her shoulders as she gagged and swallowed the ball of air that caught in her throat.

“We really should look for a place… a bathroom maybe?”

“N-no, it’s over now,” Makoto said, sighing as she swallowed back what must have been a build up of stomach acid. “I feel better.”

Ren frowned. Even as Makoto’s strength returned, lifting herself off of him, he was unsure and scared. “I’m going to call a cab,” he declared.

“I already caused you so much trouble-...” There was something in the way her voice trembled that spoke more, perhaps, than what the emergency entailed. Makoto remained half in his embrace and half in her meager attempts to regain her balance and break away from him. Now that her vision was less hazy, and the setting sun cooled the otherwise overbearing temperatures, she allowed herself moment to let a momentous sigh roll off her tired shoulders.

“Not at all,” Ren reassured her. He had on a good-natured smile, especially now that most of the panic had subsided. “I’m glad I was here. Imagine if you were by yourself-...”

But it was almost as if his words fell on deaf ears. Makoto had on a crestfallen gaze that floated elsewhere, unable to face him as her body began to shake again. No hint of nausea came this time, however. “You know,” she said, her voice lilting with a hint of sullenness, “this isn’t the first time you spent Christmas Eve with me and left empty-handed.”

Ren shot Makoto a bewildered look. “What do you mean?”

Makoto let out a soft laugh, sad as it was. “Last year, I dragged you around for Christmas cake, remember?”

_Of course_ he remembered. How could he forget?

“Except that was Christmas Eve. We’re not quite there yet,” he joked, though around Makoto, it was easy enough to tinge honest words with a little bit of humor.

Makoto laughed again, but she didn’t dare say anymore. She didn’t quite trust that _her_ version of things would come off as humorously. With most of her strength regained, she huddled closer to the wall near them, leaving off Ren to rush out into the street and hail whatever cab happened to be nearby. She watched as his taller figure searched desperately at the edge of the block, sporadically raising his arm up once or twice whenever a yellow flash of fast-moving cars sped past. Around them, the sky reddened with the coming of dusk. Christmas lights wrapped around the street lamps began to flash in multicolored hues.

It didn’t take long for a vacant cab to show up, and soon Ren ushered the ailing Makoto into the car, carrying her bags for her and holding onto her arm the entire time. As friends, they never really held hands or did much holding, for that matter. But somehow, he felt surer of her safety and wellbeing when she leaned her head against his shoulder, dozing off in her weariness and in the lulling rhythms of the car. The last time she held onto him like this was in Sojiro’s house, during a fateful midsummer blackout.

He remembered how her trembling and clinginess made his heart flutter then, or how - when she sank to his legs, paralyzed with fear - heat rushed to his cheeks in a mild mixture of pride and embarrassment. Now? Neither the rush of infatuation or the nerve-induced coyness of her proximity fazed him. Ren could only feel relief and the warm glow of her skin now that she was okay. Looking over her sleeping face, he wondered how he could have gone almost a year without seeing her.

An endless moment must have passed them by in the car. The darkness of a nighttime sky swept over the cityscape outside, and soon Ren too felt the weight of sleep cling to his eyes.

_Bzzzzt. Bzzzzzzzt_.

The harsh and raucous vibration of Makoto’s cellphone woke both of them with a jolt. The two jostled their limbs away from each other, awkwardly apologizing and hemming and hawing as she struggled to find the phone in her purse.

“H-hello? … Oh! Hi…”

The quick rise and fall of her voice told Ren who it was.

“I’m almost home, actually,” she spoke in lower tones. “Give me about half an hour? … Okay. I’ll see you then.”

Ren wasn’t even aware when he let go of her arm, or when he found himself inching away to the other side of the seat. He mostly kept to himself, content to stay awake for the rest of the quiet ride.

  



	7. Chapter 7

The days before Christmas came and went like the hush of a mid-winter breeze. Makoto had spent those twilight hours in idle waiting, sending presents, and making the obligatory greetings. Yet, amidst the hustle, the dinginess of her lonesome flat bared the glaring possibility that an unexpected doldrum had entered her life. Her love life was one such instance, for in those winding days Akira had barely made an appearance. It took effortful persuasion to coax him into spending Christmas Eve with her (he protested that they were sure to see each other for respective family gatherings the following day). Still, Makoto was persistent when she wanted to be, and Akira eventually succumbed with barely a huff when she had called him over by the phone.

It didn’t take long for the routine to set in, and much to Makoto’s relief, he was always willing to dance _that_ dance when the mood struck. But by the time clothes haplessly piled on the floor, and the sheets were ruffled in their entangled limbs, Makoto noticed a difference. Like a subtle itch wrinkling her nose, she felt it in the ruther brusque rhythms of his movements; the impersonal way he wrapped around her and went about his business. Sex was becoming mechanical. Makoto knew it would happen eventually. She just didn’t think it would happen so fast.

By 0:04, it was barely Christmas Day. Akira’s embraces were somewhat cool to the touch, and his kisses were a little lackluster. Whatever passion or hunger had once been there disappeared as quickly as it came. Even the way his hands lagged along the curve of her sides felt choreographed. Makoto didn’t know what to make of it anymore. Leaning over until their eyes met in the dark, she tried for another desperate kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered in between.

Makoto was practically coaxing him to climax, riding with more force than he had given her all night. There was disappointment even in the way his hips spasmed into her, releasing nothing more than a hoarse and violent grunt for a response.

Usually, she would fall back to his side, utterly breathless. Then he would kiss her back, whisper sweet nothings, and hold her with a possessive grip of his arms.

But that night Akira was intractable. He lay limp at the center of the bed as she recoiled lifelessly from the grip of his release. Makoto was hoping to ignite some sort of spark by melting into him, falling with her chin perched at the nape of his neck.

Still, nothing came.

So she tried again, running a tired hand along the line of his jaw.

“I love you, Akira,” she dared again in placating tones. “Thank you for spending Christmas Eve with me.”

Perhaps it was the softness of her words or the insistent yet loving gesture of her hands as they caressed his skin, but she sensed a change - small and subtle enough to tug at the waning embers of hope. The way his chest fell with languid breath was more than evidence that Makoto had garnered some sort of reaction. She watched with keen eyes as the outline of his face moved in the dark.

“Of course,” he said. In between, the small (yet not small enough) pause of a breath punctuated the sentiment, and by the time the requisite “I love you” followed, Makoto couldn’t help but pout from barely concealed disappointment

Akira reached up to her wrist, wrapping his fingers around hers. Makoto’s eyes fluttered with the softness of his thumb circling the lines of her palm.

“I know you’ve been busy… with your new job at the law office and all.” Makoto gulped audibly. Her hand stayed close to the tip of his chin, nuzzling closer into the shape of him.

“I would have had the day off anyway.”

There was a bluntness to his tone - a blithe and unexpectedly cold manner with which he returned her affection. Even in the dark, Makoto could see an emptiness in his eyes, cool and withered indifference.

“Oh…”

A knot of air squeezed her throat. Like an itch, it was harsh and made it difficult to speak.

“Well,” she stammered, fumbling in the shadows of dirty sheets only to recede further into his halfhearted embrace, “You’ve also been tired and stressed…” she paused, reaching up for a kiss, “so, thank you.”

To that, Akira could add nothing. His eyes fell with a glaze until he could roll flat on his back, fixing a gaze on the textured grains of the ceiling. Makoto, meanwhile, found the silence that followed almost stifling. The air felt thinly stretched out, and her chest rose dramatically to grasp at whatever proverbial straws she could. Somehow, even as close to as him she was, she could feel Akira grow distant - hollow, even.

“Are-...” she stopped again to swallow that uncomfortable ward of air threatening to burst with her tears, “are you mad at me?”

The bed bounced with Akira’s abrupt movements. He turned suddenly, laying on his side so he could face her.

“Why do you say that?”

For a question that expressed concern, nothing in his voice spoke it. His words were as lifeless as the gesture he gave - the small consolation of his brushing back her sweat-dampened bangs by the part. Makoto remembered when there was love to the gesture, or when there was a hint of softness in the murmurs of his breaths. She missed the lilting waves of his voice when he would speak soothingly into her ear, reassuring her of his love even when she didn’t have it. Things were so unbearably stilted, and the mask that he had worn so blatantly before her could only add salt to the already searing wounds.

“I- I don’t know,” was all she could say. She felt tricked somehow. Akira had brandished the evidence, all the telltale signs that he no longer loved her, and deftly covered it up with such an innocent question. Makoto could only bite back a barely suppressed sob before letting an errant tear stream down her eye. “I don’t- ...I don’t know!”

Everything hurt. The throbbing in her chest, the stinging in her eyes, and the swelling in her throat… it was all so painful. Makoto could only curl up in response, clamping her jaw shut in a brave show to deny just how much power he had over her.

And it was no comfort - no comfort to her at all when he ran a languid hand down her hair, brushing the brown locks back behind her ear. Akira pressed closer, whispering in soft murmurs, “It’s okay.” His hand fell from her hair to the nape of her neck, falling by the wayside so it could run along the ridges of her back. “Just close your eyes and sleep.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and scream until her voice could die out with the pained strains of her parched throat. _You don’t love me anymore._ Words echoed in her head that weren’t hers; words long ago buried and yet rose with a vengeance. _You don’t love me anymore._

Yet for all her anger, Makoto could only whimper with tears lost in the dark. And despite his coolness, Akira’s touch was still tantalizingly warm. The ministrations of his hand as it fanned over her back was more than just soothing. In the end, Makoto caved and sought to bury the tears again, sinking in the solace of his arms.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, pressing his mouth close to her ear, “get some sleep. We’ve got a lot going on tomorrow.”

A meager protest erupted like a sob from her lips, but it didn’t matter in the end. Akira consoled her with another kiss, and much to her surprise - his mouth, like the best wine, suddenly washed away all the bitterness of their evening.

* * *

Makoto woke up with her guts threatening to spill out of her mouth. She rushed with a groggy sense of direction from her bed and slammed into the bathroom door. Thankfully, the small cubicle-like space didn’t have much distance for her to traverse. All it took was one step, and Makoto fell to her knees, grabbed the rim of the bowl, and vomited last night’s dinner. All she could hear was the sound of half-digested lumps splashing into the water, the echoes of it ringing eerily against the ceramic.

And when all seemed to be over, Makoto stood only to find her posture still wobbly. Her weakened knees caved, and she was back to her hunched over position, retching until an overwhelming bitterness washed over the roof of her mouth.

Makoto didn’t dare trust herself. She stayed hugging the rim of the bowl, noticing rusted over stains along the seat’s underside. She heaved and sighed, waiting for the next wave to hit her.

Bracing didn’t seem to work. Nothing came, save a cough and a drawn-out sigh. She waited a few moments before looking over her shoulder, peering into the dark to see if she incidentally woke Akira. The gray and dreary December mornings didn’t really help matters, but his silhouette - sleeping and sprawled on the tiny bed not too far from the bathroom - appeared unmoving. All she could notice was the intermittent rise and fall of his chest as he lay blissfully asleep.

 _Like a rock,_ she thought to herself, biting down on her lip only to wince from the lingering taste of stomach acid.

Her hands reached haplessly for the lever, flushing as she watched everything that had come out of her spiral down into the pipes. She waited to make sure all evidence was gone.

Makoto lingered for a while, staring into the empty space of her sleep-deprived delirium. The bathroom tiles were cold against the back of her legs, and the pale bluish light of the flickering bulb was more than nauseating. She paused and wondered, fixing her eyes on _some_ thing as muddled thoughts ran with half-conscious speculation.

Perhaps it was because she was _just_ waking up, but the nagging suspicion in the back of her mind couldn’t make itself heard. Her hand ran wearily along her temple, pressing against her skin in an effort to block out the thoughts.

 _“_ Mako-chan?”

The voice came from outside, echoing into the bathroom like soft whispers. But Makoto could only feel fear as it melded with dread in her limbs. Her head spun over her shoulder in panic, and her arms instinctively pushed against the toilet bowl in desperation.

“I- um… sorry,” she called out. “I’ll be right back!”

But she was much too late. Akira had already crossed the necessary distance, entering into the threshold of the bathroom door.

“You okay?”

Even under such harsh light, Makoto thought Akira still had an endearing look about him. His hand shot up to curl against his eyes, pinched shut and bleary-eyed against the overwhelming brightness of the room. His hair too bore the signs of an early morning rush, tousled and strewn about in thick black locks over the wide frame of his face. They were both stark naked and fatigued from restless sleep, but in that suspended second Makoto held out hope that perhaps his willingness to cross into the bathroom for _her_ could assuage her fears.

“O-oh!” she stammered, looking up at him while failing to rise from the mess of the bathroom. “I’m um… I’m fine! Just… feeling under the weather,” she casually explained while plastering a tired smile on her face.

Akira stared blankly at her.

“And… that’s it?” He winced as he finished his question, half certain that there was more she was keeping from him. It didn’t help matters when his eyes darted to and fro, searching for the source of the rancid smell permeating the bathroom.

But all Makoto did was smile ever brighter, shaking her head to smooth out whatever wrinkles there were to their morning. “Go back to sleep,” she said after a while. “It’s nothing.”

For a while, Akira said and _did_ nothing. He merely looked around, rubbing more of his eyes against the temptation of sleep as he tried to amble back to bed.

As if on cue, Makoto felt the pull of her insides twisting while her lungs heaved with sickly air. An ugly noise wrenched itself from her throat, and before long she found herself in the same hunched position once more. This time, there was an audience.

“Mako-chan!”

Perhaps it was the speed with which he fell to her side, on his knees and hands ready to soothe the sting that bubbled up from the base of her spine. Makoto retched to the point that tears erupted in reckless abandon, and nothing but Akira’s hands, running endless circles over her back, could make it any better. She regretted, albeit for a moment, ever doubting him.

“This looks serious,” he said gravely, brushing back a dampened strand that snaked along her chin. Makoto coughed violently afterwards, leaning in to the toilet in case there were any stragglers, and by then Akira’s eyes awakened to the emergency unraveling before him. “That’s it… I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“N-no!” She half-rose from her spot on the floor, reaching for his hand just as he turned to leave. “I’m sure it’s only the flu...”

He had on a lip-biting silence, one riddled with doubt and worry all at once. Makoto didn’t just look sick - she looked on the verge of death. Perhaps it was the cheap bathroom lighting, but he was sure that her complexion never looked so sallow.

Yet Makoto was nothing if not stubborn. She inched forward, still unable to rise from her spot on the grimy tiles so as to lay a reassuring hand over his cheek. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, focusing what little energy she had left on the unconvincing show. “I’ll call for my sister to come here and take care of me.”

“But-...”

“ _Please_.” Makoto’s eyes narrowed up at him with a stern furrow of her brow. “I’m okay... I promise.” The last bit was somewhat tacked on, and it wasn’t as effective as she had hoped. The lackluster twinkle of earnestness in her eyes didn’t help matters, and soon her arm grew weary from holding out to an otherwise unresponsive partner.

Akira stared dumbly at the sickly woman before him, fighting off his slumberous haze while his eyes glazed over with nagging suspicion. As far as he knew, the plan - originally - was to spend the afternoon at her sister’s before heading over to _his_ parents’. It was a momentous day, considering he had never brought home a girl before, and the weight of it sat at the tip of his tongue like an unspoken protest. Akira rubbed his eyes again in yet another effort to rouse his groggy self.

“Go back to sleep,” Makoto urged on. She managed another halfhearted smile. “Later, you can go home to your family. I-... I wouldn’t want them to catch a cold because of me.”

“You’re calling _this_ a cold?”

Lying was not Makoto’s forte, but neither was deigning to ask her boyfriend for any sort of help. The sting of his coolness last night had been fresh on Makoto’s mind, and even then - in the midst of his worries over her health - his gray eyes still reflected a blank, faraway gaze. Nothing had been quite the same since they left the Christmas party at Leblanc, and she was hoping they would have fixed things by Christmas proper. _Now_ wasn’t exactly the best time to spring this new and potentially life-ruining problem on him.

So she cast her bet on the flimsy lie, continuing until stubborn persistence lent it more meaning. “I’ll call my sister, and everything will be okay.”

She recited the words like a mantra, saying them in slow, hypnotic fashion until the meaning _appeared_ to sink in. The battle was long and arduous, but victory was close at hand. After a few moments, Akira rose from the grimy tiles, stretching his arms with a tired sigh as he tacitly agreed and made the short trek back to the bedroom.

Makoto waited for the sound of his body dropping like a rock into the mattress before she let out a parched sigh of relief. The taste of stomach acid still lingered on the roof of her mouth during the seconds in between, and soon her limbs were beginning to feel the panic bubbling up like nausea at the base of her throat.

Her mind drifted to what she could possibly say; _whom_ she should call. The lie about her sister was just that - a diversion from the unnameable shame that grew inside of her. True enough, Makoto could feign ignorance two days prior, when she was caught in the whirlwind of confusion and fatigue in Ren’s arms. But she was much too smart to cling so wilfully to a state of cluelessness. Evidence was splattered everywhere before her, like grime sticking to the rusted edges of her toilet bowl. If Sae indeed came to her rescue, she would have no choice but to fess up. And more than Sae’s ruthless disappointment; her glaring disgust for personal foibles over greater causes, Makoto feared an even more visceral rejection of the _other_ choice she had made. She couldn’t let Sae think _that_ way of Akira, whom would no doubt bear the brunt of her sister’s vicious blame.

Another cough erupted, raspy and painful to her burning mouth. Makoto wiped away another tear that forced itself out, groaning with residual pain as her stomach tied into a thousand knots. Her body was protesting the prolonged indecision and her unwillingness to confirm - once and for all - the budding secret inside of her. Christmas was a rather inconvenient day for _those_ kinds of revelations, but there were clinics open. And, as her boyfriend suggested, hospitals she could visit.

Makoto spun around, arms flying away from the rim of her toilet as she looked to the room. In a few hours, Akira would be making his leave - retreating with the news of his ill girlfriend to his parents. She had some time to contemplate. If not Sae, surely there was someone else who could fulfill the role of sharing with Makoto a day she would rather forget. Rummaging through the depths of her mind, she could only come up with one name - one person whose remembrance was enough to relax the tightening hold around her throat.

* * *

Christmas Day was supposed to be _figuratively_ warm - not literally. Ren thought as much with the slight tug of a frown on his lips, watching the empty streets in the gray December morning. From inside Cafe Leblanc, Yongen-jaya had suddenly seemed so spacious and quiet, not least of all because the usual people and things had vacated elsewhere for more intimate holiday settings. Sojiro had already gone off to grab last-minute KFC, despite Ren’s warnings about the lines. Futaba, on the other hand, whiled the hours on her phone by the booth, and Kasumi simply sat next to the other girl with an eager sort of impatience about her.

“I wonder if Sakura-san will make it today,” Kasumi thought aloud, wrinkling her nose at the potential of a somewhat disjointed Christmas with Ren’s ‘other’ family. “Do you think it was okay to send him out when he already made curry?”

The question was pointed at Futaba, who seemed indifferent - if not oblivious - to the concerns of Ren’s increasingly anxious girlfriend. At first glance, the question was somewhat accusing, especially when it was Futaba who insisted that they have a _proper_ Christmas feast (instead of the over familiar curry that comprised their daily fanfare). But, turning from his spot by the shop window, Ren faced the two girls with a soft smile. “I’m sure he’ll be alright,” he answered for Futaba, who was still heavily engrossed in her phone.

To that, Kasumi answered with her own smile, albeit one wrinkled with dissatisfied concern. The shadow of a frown dogged her expression. For a moment she could do nothing but press her legs together and let out a soft yet anxious exhalation.

Despite the warm and intimate setting of the quaint cafe, Ren could sense the stifling enclosure of their silence. Futaba, an unwilling participant, sat quietly with all the wilful disregard of her surroundings while the young lovers navigated the awkwardness lingering from the previous evening. There was a tacit agreement, it seemed, that none of them would bring it up. Kasumi was more than content sitting prim and proper, pasting the forced smile of erstwhile contentment. Ren, on the other hand, who tried to be as warm as possible, felt his efforts straining and leaving him out in the cold. Even worse, he could do nothing to address the low-hanging cloud drifting over their thoughts, especially not in front of his friend.

But it seemed she knew anyway. Casually taking the space next to Kasumi on the booth, Ren toed the tenuous line between too close and not close enough. That his girlfriend was upset was obvious in her rather stiff posture and unwillingness to slide closer. Not that _he’d_ blame her. How could he? They were ready to spend a romantic Christmas Eve together, cuddled up against the cold in his solitary cafe attic. The mood was prepared, blankets readied, and candles lit. The only thing missing was a present - a small yet precious show of his affection.

That Futaba sat across from them, not at all showing off the new gadget Sojiro had gifted _her_ , betrayed her own keen awareness of the situation. Futaba might lack some tact, but her kindness showed in these small gestures… not that it helped Ren any when it came to begging Kasumi’s forgiveness.

“So,” he started awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs in front of the two distracted girls, “anything cool come up in the little internet?” Ren played it safe and focused his attentions on Futaba. He thought that by leaning on an inside joke, she would be more than willing to engage in a bit of small talk.

“Hnnmh,” hummed the introverted hacker, “not really.” Futaba paused long enough to peer at her (basically) foster brother, letting her nose push up her oversized glasses. But the concession was smaller than Ren was hoping, for she quickly looked away and redoubled her phone-based fixation.

Next to him, Kasumi webbed her hands together and was _practically_ (without actually) whistling against the awkward silence that followed. Her large, doll-like eyes flitted to Ren while maintaining a veneer of aloofness in her posture. She checked to see that the wristwatch she had bought him as a Christmas present was on his wrist, and she almost allowed herself the reprieve of a sigh when she saw that he was at least attentive enough to do _that_.

“Hey…”

Kasumi jumped at the sound of Ren’s voice, who gave a soft and reassuring smile as he laid a gentle hand on hers over the table.

“Boss’ll be back in no time. Don’t worry.” His voice was small and low, affecting a concern that seemed more than a trivial errand would warrant. But Ren was trying - if nothing. Intimate shows of affection could often replace a much-needed conversation (for the time being), and he was more than determined that, at the very least, Christmas this year would go off without a hitch. It was bad enough that he had spent last year’s holiday being placed under arrest. The mere thought of it pulled like a tug on the corners of his mouth.

_“Sis?! What’s going on?!”_

Ren shifted uncomfortably in his seat, pulling away from Kasumi with the quickness of a hand fleeing the flames of a stove.

“Ren-kun?” Kasumi piped up in shock.

He ran a tired hand through his previously combed hair, breaking out into a cold sweat with the vivid remembrance of the previous year’s Christmas. “It’s… nothing,” he said, after a deep breath. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

Kasumi looked on with a raised brow, hoping for more. Even Futaba, who pretended to still be lost in her phone, glanced at him with concern.

But to tell the truth, especially after an embarrassing Christmas Eve, would have been out of the question. How could Ren admit that he had _just_ thought of Makoto in that same place on the same day last year? Her cry - muted yet trembling with confusion and fear - once the police cuffed him still haunted him that day as it did when he spent the first night in jail. He could even recall the low, sobering look of resignation on Sae-san, whose red eyes dimmed with knowing guilt once she saw the harrowing look of realization on her younger sister’s face.

_Bzzzt Bzzzzzt_

The raucous vibration of his cell phone cut through the tension. Ren started with a jolt, spinning to his phone where it was forgotten on the flat surface of the table. His hand immediately snatched the device, all the while tempering the reflex with an apologetic look to both girls. “I’ll be right back,” he said almost inaudibly as he rose to take the call.

A whirlwind of motions fluttered by them. Ren moved noisily as he slid past the leather cushion of the booth towards the hardwood floors of the cafe. Futaba paused from her maelstrom of texting to watch the scene unfold, and Kasumi could only look up, dismayed at his hurried escape.

By the time Ren reached the base of the stairs, he hadn’t bothered to check the name flashing garishly on the screen, but there was an urgency to receiving an unexpected call on Christmas Day that he dared not disregard. His long, spindly legs climbed over each wooden step, following the quickened rhythm of his heart. Who could it have been, and why? The answer still seemed so far once he reached the summit, but by then he was too busy with the rather conscious decision of tapping the green button with his thumb. With phone pressed against his ear, he managed a barely coherent “Hello?” as he tried to steady his hitched breathing.

“Ren?”

His heart stopped at the sound of her voice.

He paced the creaking floorboards to literalize the storminess that thrashed in his chest. It was all he could do to stymie the questions that flooded, struggling as he was to spurt out a brief and obligatory holiday greeting all the while.

“Makoto? I-... what’s going on? Are you okay?!”

He didn’t know why he had cause for concern, or why he would assume she was potentially _not_ okay. He just knew she sounded frail, and it didn’t help that, when he last saw her, she had almost fainted in his arms. Yet for his part, there was more than recent events to send his stomach sinking. Ren knew Makoto well enough to know when things _weren’t_ okay. She wouldn’t open a phone call with his name - mousy and whimpering as if she was terrified at the idea that someone else might pick up. He could picture her now, on the other line, coddling the phone softly against her palm as her other hand clutched nervously at her chest. His remembrance of her mannerisms was enough to send him reeling with panic, and at that point he had to stop himself from barrelling back down the stairs to go take a cab and see her.

“It’s okay! I’m fine,” she answered back, but her voice was warbled through the distortion of background noise and poor cell phone service. He could hear remnants of a crowd and the faint echoes of cars speeding past. “I’m… really sorry to bother you. You’re all probably busy celebrating Christmas right now.”

Ren almost bit his tongue at the thought that she was somewhere else other than Sae-san’s place at the moment.

“Where are you?!” He lowered his voice despite his tone of alarm, suddenly remembering that a potential audience lied in wait downstairs.

From the other end, he could hear her let out a sharp gasp of surprise. She had expected to have to convince him; to wait for him to make arrangements and beg forgiveness as he slowly made his way to the other side of town _just_ for her. She _hadn’t_ expected that his voice would be dripping with terror, and his immediate demand to know what exactly was going on could only convey his readiness to leave at once.

“I- um… it’s hard to explain,” she stammered in response, but the pause only made room for an even greater silence. For her part, Makoto already took a huge risk calling, and the firm resolve she had when she sent Akira away was now dissipating in the face of consequences (potential and actual) playing out in her imagination. What would it look like to everyone else if Ren came to her rescue now? Would people know?

“Makoto,” Ren whispered firmly, “talk to me.” He was growing impatient with the delays, not because of any immediate hurry on _his_ part, but he was worried. His heart was beating wildly against his chest, and each second she didn’t speak only let in more noises that confirmed his theory that she was in a place she shouldn’t be.

It was all too much. His panic, her reluctance, and the knowledge that she was about to rope him into something he had no part in… and to what? To make Akira believe everything was okay? Her lip trembled with hesitation, and despite Ren’s entreaties, Makoto hung on the line with speechless dread. The scope of her vision was narrowing, and it didn’t help that the warm salt of tears were, once more, beginning to sting her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she finally spoke, sighing to mask the sob that came with her heavy exhalation. “It’s been a year, and things haven’t changed…”

Ren fought hard against the impulse to question her; to make things make sense, but instead he swallowed the pit building in his throat and forced a hand on the railing by the stairs. Tightening his grip around it seemed reassuring, despite the pit growing in his stomach.

“I’m just like that girl in that jail cell,” she said with a soft trail of laughter, but the mirth of it tapered off - hinting at the tone of sadness weighing down her thoughts. “The moment things go wrong,” she started, but the sentence wouldn’t finish itself. Her breath hung with an unexpected hitch in her train of thought. _I always run to you_ , she wanted to say.

Ren didn’t need much to parse out the details. The panic that had consumed him gave way to something else entirely - concern, sorrow, and a forlorn sense that time passed them by with barely a thought or a care. Had it _really_ been a year since then? That past seemed so distant now that life was normal - all too normal.

“This might sound strange, but,” she picked up again, “a part of me was lost that day.” Makoto lowered her eyes, letting her gaze fall languidly on her lap from where she sat on the public bench. “She’s gone…” A lapse in sound dwelled on the revelation. Makoto knew that _he_ would know whom she meant. Naming was too difficult for now. To name her would mean to relive the pain all over again. “I don’t hear her anymore.” The words poured out of her like the tears that wouldn’t fall. Makoto clutched the wad of air against her chest with her free hand, fighting back the shriveling cough that threatened to silence her for good. “I know it’s a good thing, but…”

“I know,” Ren suddenly interrupted. Unexpectedly, his voice trembled too, and for a moment he was grateful that he had the foresight to cling to the wooden rail. “I know… I know…” he repeated the words, feeling a gnawing sting at the back of his throat. What Makoto had confessed was something he had _never_ admitted to himself, much less heard from any of the former Phantom Thieves. It was the secret none of them acknowledged; the secret they buried in the guise of pleasant memories and lost daydreams. They were all normal now, and Ren made peace with that, just as he made peace with Makoto’s sudden and regretful departure from his life.

“Ever since then,” Makoto continued, ignoring the sniffle that betrayed her sobbing from the other line, “I’ve been going through life with a missing limb…” She paused only to search for a handkerchief in her purse, rummaging through its contents in time to fight the stream of tears falling silently against the raucous din around her. “And the worst part…” she breathed sharply, holding back the need to scream she didn’t realize was there. “The worst part is, I can’t tell anyone about it.” But the sadness that emanated in spaces could only give way to something else. A small and subtle chortle tinged the close of her words, and, despite it all, Makoto smiled softly to herself. “Anyone but _you_ , of course.”

“Makoto, listen to me.” Ren ran another tired hand through his head, laying a concerned palm over his temple as he ambled about in his room. He searched his surroundings for the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me.” He hunched over as he moved towards the wall, leaning against it for support as he whispered closer to the receiver of his phone, “I’m here for you.”

Much to his surprise, reckless and uncontained laughter erupted from the other line. Makoto giggled, though not without the hint of sullen disbelief that had dogged their entire conversation. “There you go again,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he said, somewhat thrown aback, but her laughter was infectious too. Despite the circumstances, he found himself able to laugh along, though he gave nothing more than a soft and muted chuckle.

“You always know what to say,” she answered, but another sniffle broke the illusion of whatever reprieve Ren thought they had. She had been crying all the while, and it only brought back the sense of urgency he had felt when he first answered her call.

“I mean it,” he fought back. Yet Ren was vaguely aware of how sudden such a declaration it might have been. Crossing the threshold from the stairs and further into his bedroom, Ren added more. This time, he was careful to let the words fall like an even gentler whisper, “That hasn’t changed, you know? I’ll _always_ be here for you.”

It was strange hearing those words. After months of silence, of assumptions, of dangerous trains of thought that he had completely forgotten about her, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it.

But the suspense proved too much for Ren, who was pacing recklessly (to the concern of those awaiting him downstairs). “Where’s Akira?” he asked suddenly, lifting himself out of the fog he had dangerously lost himself in. It was so easy to forget that life had also moved on for Makoto (as it did for him), and he was careful to tread _that_ dangerous line. “Shouldn’t you two be at your sister’s?”

The question came like a shock to her ears. Makoto hadn’t expected that Ren would so quickly remind her of the unpleasant fact that, however sincere he was moments before, his feelings were tempered with the knowledge that they belonged to other people.

“I sent him home,” she answered.

“And where are you now?”

 _That_ was a harder question to answer. She hung on that one for a few seconds more, wondering if she could bring herself to say it aloud.

Downstairs, Ren could hear the two girls he left behind shuffling. No doubt Kasumi would let her curiosity get the better of her and come up to ask about his suspiciously long absence. That her steps were audibly coming closer to the base of the stairs didn’t help either.

“Hey,” he cut in before he could let Makoto contemplate any longer, “text me where you are. I’ll go to you.”

* * *

The streets of Yongen-jaya were wet by the time Ren’s boots clicked on the paved streets. Behind him, he heard the chime of Cafe Leblanc’s doorbell fade with the close of the door. There was such a rush to his exit, that he struggled to push an arm down one sleeve of his half-worn coat. Though, considering how warm it was, he wondered if there was any sense in bringing a coat at all.

“Ren, wait!”

The bell chimed again with her words, and Ren stopped dead in his tracks when he turned to find Kasumi following after him and hugging herself from the subtler chill of an unusually warm wintry day.

“Kasumi, I’m sorry, but -...”

He stopped himself. The words fell like a hush by the time he saw the stern look on her face - the hollow listlessness of barely subdued anger welling in the dark red pupils of her eyes. That she didn’t even add an honorific (or use the affectionate ‘senpai’) to his name stung him like an unreachable itch.

“For a long time now,” she said, looking somewhat crestfallen as her eyes fell to her feet. “I’ve done my best to ignore it.” Her arms fell by her side, and the urgency in her tone swelled with bitterness that he never thought she was capable of feeling.

Ren wasn’t stupid. He had a feeling - no, he _knew_ where she was going. It precisely the line of thought he felt was dangerous and, worst of all, time-consuming. Whatever explanations he had to give could come later. Right now though…

But Kasumi merely shook her head, brooking no interruptions or excuses when he raised his arm to start. “Ren-kun, I know where you’re going.” Her words were punctuated with the infectious tremor that had swept them all on that forlorn Christmas day. By her side, one of Kasumi’s hands balled up into a tightened fist. Ren could see, despite the shiver in her small frame, her manicured nails dig into the thick of her palm. “There’s only one person who has this control over you.”

Ren bit down on his lower lip, grimacing at his girlfriend’s rather unfair insinuation. “That’s not what this is.”

“We’ve been here for you,” she continued, staring him down with a face hardened by a jealousy she had repressed for far too long. “Your friends, Sakura-san… All this time, _we’ve_ been here for you. _She_ disappears for a year, and all it takes is one phone call-...”

“It’s not like that,” he protested, perhaps too readily. Ren averted his gaze, somewhat ashamed by his need to defend Makoto from his own girlfriend. “She needs me-...”

To that Kasumi could only scoff. “Makoto-senpai is so lucky,” she answered with a deadened glare, “To have Akira-san _and_ Ren-kun always at her side when she needs them.”

For a moment, Ren saw everything in Kasumi’s eyes. Her disappointment with his non-existent present, her own thinly veiled surprise that he had been alone with Makoto Christmas shopping, and the many memories throughout their time together where a subtle pout or lip-biting silence ensued at the mention of the other woman’s name. Kasumi’s frown threw everything into a clarity too sharp to ignore, and the weight of those memories made his heart drag down beneath his ribs.

“And what about _me_?” The caustic tenor of her voice faded, dropping down to the lilting plea of a whimper. “You once said you’d stay by my side.”

“Kasumi,” he pleaded, trying to mask his impatience with desperation, “this is an emergency... I promise when I get back-”

“Senpai,” she said sternly, letting the former term of endearment fall like a heavy brick as it jarred against her otherwise sweet voice, “if you leave now-”

The threat hung in uneasy suspension. Ren and Kasumi hovered silently against the impasse - the former, waiting anxiously for the finish, and the latter not daring to utter words she wished never existed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping forward with a look of hurt furling his brow. “Why are you making me choose? This has nothing to do with us.”

“But you’re wrong!” Her protest came out like a sharp cry. Kasumi’s tears flowed unbidden, and all she could do was fan desperate hands over her face, unwilling to shed such public tears for someone who never cared for her. “It’s Christmas Day, and you’re leaving _me_ to be with _her_.”

“Kasumi, a _friend_ needs me!”

“ _I_ need you!” Her voice cracked with broken sobs, and her shoulders shook violently with each hitched breath that interrupted her cries. “Why can’t you see that?”

It was a joke. Life was a cruel and horrible joke. Kasumi rubbed her eyes with the tip of her knuckles, fighting back the ceaseless crying that had ruined their otherwise perfect and normal holiday. She had spent all of last year chasing after Ren, being with him, and working so her admiration was no longer met at a distance. She had even given up better prospects and a more competitive gymnastics team to _be_ with him in his hometown. Yet here they were, in front of Cafe Leblanc where it all began, and Ren was ready to throw it all away.

Ren, for his part, looked at her dumbfounded. What could she possibly need? As far as he knew, they had been happy. _She_ had been happy. Apart from the slight hiccup of his non-existent present, she had him believe that she wanted for nothing. The outburst chilled him to the core, and he felt helpless in his ignorance that a storm had been brewing all the while he was focused on another girl.

A blustering wind breezed through the two figures, pushing Ren away from the scene before him. He stood there in his sustained astonishment, watching and waiting all the while sifting through the many things he could and wanted to say. Kasumi’s eyes were reddened, and her face was markedly puffy. No matter what, there was no going back to the facade they barely managed to perform earlier in the day. Something had broken between them, and Ren found himself empty-handed when it came to a solution.

“I’m sorry, Ren-kun,” she finally said. His silence was damning, and it could only add to the disappointment that had welled like a pit in her stomach. “But I think you’ve made your choice.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the massive delay. I got busy with a school-related things, and the lockdown thanks to covid-19 just kind of upturned all my plans. I found some free time and managed to squeeze out an update. I meant for this chapter to be the last, but unfortunately I always overestimate my ability to describe things with fewer words, and I ended up deciding to split the chapter further. Again, I am so sorry for the lateness. Please expect an update within the next month! Thank you again everyone <3

Ren grumbled as he swayed with the jerky movements of the bus. He tightened his grip on the overhead handles, biting down nervously as his foot tapped with impatience.

_‘I’m sorry Ren-kun…’_

The beating of his heart rose in precipitate throbs as he recalled Kasumi’s words, filling his chest with the weighty dread of a future still in the blind.

_‘But you’ve made your choice.’_

The bus screeched to a halt, and the absentminded bodies of its passengers leaned from inertia.

“Shibuya Station. Shibuya Station. Please watch your step-…” the automated voice cautioned in low, droning tones from the bus intercom.

Ren filed along with the other busybodies, lost in a daze as he weighed the possibilities of what he had just gone through.

 _‘Kasumi, you can’t mean that!’_ he had protested minutes before. His heart squeezed with the pain of anxious anticipation, and even now, far removed from the breakup, he couldn’t help but ponder the questions which had flowed ceaselessly since he had made his ‘choice.’ A part of him, after all, was still reeling from its aftershock.

“Watch where you’re going!” a curmudgeonly old man admonished after Ren bumped into him.

“S-sorry,”the addled teen muttered under his breath. Ren gripped the loose hem of his jacket and wrapped it tighter as he stepped into the chilly, mid-winter air. Above him, the clouds were gray with ominous reproach, and the rain that had showered them in the early hours of dawn looked ready to return.

He did his best to focus on the task at hand, recalling the laconic message Makoto had sent.

_‘Shibuya. By a cake shop. You’ll know which one.’_

The message startled him at first and prompted a series of unspoken questions amidst his confusion. Which cake shop? There were _plenty_ , and Shibuya was sure to-…

Ren practically raced down the street, unperturbed by the wet clamor of his shoes clicking against damp cement. Since it was still Christmas, the streets were packed with infatuated couples, stuck close together to fend off the conveniently cooler temperatures. Ren barely registered their muffled sounds of protest when he wove around them, fighting against the lines of last-minute shoppers and lovesick individuals. _He_ was lovesick too, in his own way. By the time the familiar sign of a certain bakery emerged in the crowded horizon, Ren could feel a stuttering in his heart as he remembered the last time he had been there.

 _‘Hey Makoto,’_ he had said in the gloom of his foolishness the year before, ‘ _remember when I said we should be study partners?’_

A year ago, under the cover of snow, he made a mistake, one which he never stopped regretting. And though Kasumi’s bitter words still rang in his mind, reminding him of the year that his mistake had made possible - cheerful and loving as it was - he couldn’t help but hammer the words over and over in the blankness of his mind. _Not again_ , he thought with desperation. _Please, don’t let it happen again_.

Before Ren knew it, tears began to well in his eyes, unbidden and unreleased in the throbbing palpitations that beat against his chest. He wasn’t even aware that he was running, much to the terror of passerbys and aimless pedestrians. He wanted nothing more than to forget the pain of losing Kasumi and the swelling weight that made his heart sink with dread. Makoto _needed_ him, and it was all he could think of. How many more years-… how many more lonely Christmases did he need to waste before he could tell her that he needed _her_ too?

“Makoto!” Yelling out her name seemed to snap him out of his trance. He stood there, wide-eyed and breathless. “Makoto, I-…”

But exhaustion hit him then, prompting him to stop and perch tired hands over his knees for support. In front of him, standing lonesome by the cake shop they had visited together last Christmas, was a pale and tired-looking Makoto. Her cheeks were puffy, and some invisible weight seemed to make her posture stoop low. Much to Ren’s dismay, she wasn’t exactly dressed appropriately for the chilly weather they were having. She had on a thin, pale-blue cardigan over a light blouse, and it was paired with the inadequate warmth of her usual leggings and short, brown ankle boots. If anything, it was clear she had left her home in a rush, and everything about that (the implications of it and the fear that still riddled her tired eyes), made Ren gulp down the abating fright of his panic.

“I’m here,” he said when she didn’t answer. “It’s okay I’m here.”

Makoto, for her part, didn’t seem to know what was going on. She stepped close with halfhearted hesitation, reaching for his hand before sinking into the outstretched arms of a friend she called in her desperation. Tears came before words, and before she knew it, she was crying in his embrace.

Much to his surprise, Ren felt as clear as day. What had been panic, confusion, and fear melted away when he felt hot tears drench the lapels of his jacket in reckless abandon. He moved without thinking, patting her on the head and resting his chin on the unusually uncouth knots of her brown hair.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he repeated, somewhat embarrassed now that he grew conscious of the eyes watching them. “I’m here now, it’s okay.”

Ren wasn’t even aware how or why Makoto needed him, or what he could do to save her from whatever it was she was running from. But what did all that matter? The questions that plagued him when Kasumi posed her ultimatum seemed trivial now. A friend needed him. _Makoto_ needed him, and he was there. For a moment, all seemed right with the world.

* * *

Makoto breathed in once they sat on a nearby park bench. Her heart was unusually calm, somewhat regular in its beating despite the circumstances.

“I think I’m pregnant,” she said with unnerving candor. “Akira’s the father,” she added, as if that needed clarifying or saying.

Ren sat next to her, stone-faced as he let the news sink in with the endless passing of seconds.

She rested her hands flat on her lap and took in another deep breath. Before Ren arrived, she was practicing some sort of speech, or some plan of action with which to guide him into helping her. Yet all that planning and cool-headed thinking seemed to fizzle away with his prolonged silence.

“I see,” he spoke after what must have been an eternity. He looked at her, processing the numbness in his heart as he rationalized the turn of events that led him there. “Are you-…”

Makoto shook her head and cut him off with the forceful whimper of tears threatening to burst once more. She pinched her eyes shut and hugged herself, leaning forward as her head bowed in shame. She knew what he wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to hear it. The answer was already laid out before her, but something about uttering it seemed to re-open the many half-forgotten wounds she had endured through the year since the Phantom Thieves had disbanded.

“N-no, I-…” she tried, but a shakiness of her voice stopped up the words. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her clothes, hoping for a firmer grip as she fought the nerves that threatened what remained of her sense of reason and clarity. Looking up, she focused her gaze across the street, on the store-front glass of the bakery where it boasted delectable treats. “I-it’s strange,” she said out of the blue.

Ren was startled to say the least, somewhat taken aback by the drastic change in her tone. His eyes followed hers and listened attentively.

“Every year, it seems my sister and I find a way to _not_ spend Christmas together,” she continued, though not without a forced and stilted chuckle to lighten the mood. “I came here thinking I could finally bring home some cake, but-…” Makoto paused to let out a sigh, tired as she was. “Cake doesn’t seem to be on the menu this year, again,” she finished with a forced smile. She turned once more to face Ren, who looked at her with barely subdued worry over the lines of his otherwise soft features.

Makoto reddened with embarrassment, unused to seeing such a pained expression on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she pleaded. Makoto hugged herself tighter and averred her gaze, focusing on the nearby distractions of Shibuya. Her mind found rest with the ensuing silence, taking comfort in the rather fluid motions of the city’s hustle and bustle. After a while, she laid her hand flat on the bench, slouching her posture as she found the wherewithal to relax and refocus her energy.

“Makoto,” Ren spoke in more serious tones. His knitted brows belied his concern, adding to the sternness of his frown. “Does Akira know?”

The question was a shock, to say the least. Makoto straightened her spine and looked away, nibbling on her lower lip as she mulled over the right words.

“No,” came her terse reply.

Ren leaned in, doing his best to flatten the bewilderment in his tone.

“Why not? Shouldn’t he-…?”

Makoto shook her head violently. “No,” she managed in a low and trembling voice, "not until I know for sure.”

Yet not even the tacked-on answer reassured Ren, who could only bite back his flinching disapproval of the situation. Staring back at Makoto, the panic and confusion that had troubled him on his way to her began to flood back. What was _he_ doing there, subbing in for another man who - for all intents and purposes - had vanished when Makoto needed him most? Ren leaned forward, his head drooping over his knees as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

 _‘What am I doing here?’_ the question repeated itself in the hollow silence of his thoughts. He began to wonder if he was making Makoto’s situation worse by being there; by meddling in trouble he clearly had no part in. _Wouldn’t_ any guy be angry if his pregnant girlfriend ran to someone else? How would _he_ feel if Kasumi-

“Have you seen a doctor?” he tried again, finding solace in action when his thoughts could only lead to painful dead-ends.

Makoto shook her head.

“Then we should go see one,” Ren said in softer tones. He offered something of a forced smile, hoping his goodwill could at least bring Makoto out of her shell. She still had on that tightlipped silence, and her nerves showed in the way her hand ceaselessly trembled on the park bench, pink-bitten from the wintry chill.

“Here,” he quickly added, before turning to unbutton his jacket and roll off the sleeves from his spindly arms.

“Ren! What are you-…”

“You’ll catch a cold in that sweater,” he said with a nod of his head. The jacket was off before Makoto could squeeze in another protest. “Besides, it’s bad for you being out here like this,” he continued with less finesse, “you know? Your condition…”

“I know!” Makoto snatched the jacket from his hand, blushing through her defensiveness. It was bad enough having Ren worry over her, but it was even worse watching him stumble verbally for the right words to describe her… ‘condition.’

Still, the gesture was not without its own tenderness, for Makoto was quick to relish her newfound warmth now that she had both arms through both sleeves. Folding one end over the other, she hugged herself again and breathed through the oversized jacket’s fabric. Oddly enough, she thought while pursing her lips, it _smelled_ like him - coffee, curry, and a hint of many other things. It was somewhat relieving (if not surprising) to find that, even after leaving Tokyo, not much had changed. The Ren who sat next to her on that bench was the same kind, deadpan snarker she tried so hard to forget almost a year before.

Ren, for his part, looked away with a timidity Makoto could only find endearing.

“I think I’ve known for some time now,” she said in low tones, cutting through the silence that befell them, “but I didn’t want to acknowledge it.”

Whatever ‘it’ was, Ren could only guess. He decided instead to listen intently, holding back his breath as he watched his best friend smile sadly through her hunched yet bundled up figure.

“When I almost fainted the other day, I knew something was wrong, but I was afraid.” Her words trailed with a tired sigh. “This isn’t-… it’s not the first time that something like this happened,” she added, her hands nervously fidgeting through the bunched up sleeves. “He was always reckless like that, but I told myself, maybe next time, he’ll learn, and _I’ll_ learn…”

Ren did his best to steady his features - to keep on that expressionless mask he always wore when he needed to disappear. But perhaps it was the cold air, or the way Makoto continued her story without so much as _looking_ at him, but his arms were shaking. His entire body, it seemed shook in place.

“I want you to know,” Makoto continued, sharing in the infectious trembling that had swept through both friends, “it’s not his fault.”

“What are you saying?” he asked incredulously, forcing something of a placating smile to temper her panicked emotions. “Listen, we just have to see a doctor, and everything will be okay, okay?” The more he spoke, the more he felt like his words were more for _himself_ rather than the ailing girl next to him.

The unbidden tears returned, and before long Makoto receded into the confines of Ren’s jacket, finding solace in its size and softness. Her arms were practically cinching her waist, tightening until the sleeves tugged from the snugness of her grip. “I knew something was wrong, but I was afraid.” She paused to hiccup through barely subdued tears. “I didn’t want him to leave me…”

“Makoto,” he blurted out her name and turned to her in his confusion, “I promise you, you’ll get through this. _We’ll_ get through this. Whatever is going on between you and Akira-…”

Yet the slight mention of his name was enough to make her tremble violently, shaking her head whenever he uttered the other man’s name.

After a few moments, Makoto breathed through the rest of her sobbing and calmed herself. She sniffled away the redness that had washed over her nose. Before long, she shifted in her seat and sat up with a rigidity to her posture. “I don’t want him to know,” she finally spoke. “I told him I was sick, and I was hoping to take care of it before he could ever know.”

Ren stared back in stunned silence.

Makoto didn’t have to look back at him to sense the weight of his shock. She flinched where she sat, receding once more as she forced the truth from her lips. “You must think I’m the worst,” she said with a disdainful scoff, not daring to gauge anymore of his reaction with a glance. For now, she was content focusing all of her energy on _not_ crying.

It was a while before Ren said anything, sending Makoto reeling with panicked suspicion that she had lost the one ally she had through the whole ordeal.

“I don’t think anything,” Ren finally spoke. His gray eyes fell listlessly over his lap. “All I can think about right now,” he said with an impatient tap of his foot, “is getting you to the doctor; making sure you’re _safe_.”

To that, Makoto could only scoff. He hadn’t denied _anything_ , as far as she could tell.

“What?” he asked, somewhat peeved at her expression. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want to hear the truth,” she fought back with a huff. She crossed her arms once more and inched away from him in her defensiveness. “I always said you don’t have a good poker face,” Makoto muttered in irked tones. “You’re holding back.”

Ren rubbed tired hands over his face, feeling incredulous with the rather sudden turns in Makoto’s mood. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he answered, defeated as he reclined in his seat and craned his neck back. “I came here to help you, and that’s all I can think about right now.”

There was sincerity to what he said, that much was true. Yet Makoto had lingering doubts, especially since she could read the struggle written all over his tired expression.

“And Kasumi-chan?” she asked, sheepishly hugging herself now that reality was beginning to set in. “Is she okay with you helping me, despite the holiday?”

Ren stared back at first, dumbly mulling over what she had just asked him.

Kasumi?

He swallowed the building knot in his throat, hoping to recollect his composure.

“She’s fine,” he lied. “Don’t worry about her.”

Makoto’s lip curled to a frown.

“You’re still not telling me the truth.”

Ren shook his head, sighing through his exhaustion with the rather eventful Christmas he was having. A part of him wanted to relent; to give up and tell Makoto that something about her plan was ridiculous, if not downright insane. No relationship could work with such a blatant level of mistrust between two people, but her helpful reminder that he had lost Kasumi on his way there was enough to stifle whatever misgivings he had about the situation. He came to Makoto for a reason, and he’d be damned if he threw everything away and gave in to his selfishness. “If you come with me to the doctor, I’ll tell you what I think,” he offered, though not without something of teasing, crooked smile.

It may have been forced, but it was enough to elicit from Makoto a barely suppressed chuckle or two. Ren was _always_ so charming when he wanted to be, and he was especially so with his dexterous deflections.

“Promise?”

Ren held out his hand. “I promise.”

Makoto wove her fingers around his, holding onto him with more desperation than she realized she had felt. By the time Ren rose from the bench and dragged her along to the train station, Makoto had realized something. Her hands were cold - deathly cold considering the ordeal she had been through since the morning. She held onto him, hoping to share in his warmth as they stood, side by side, waiting for the next train to take them to the nearest clinic.

* * *

Akira stared at his phone, swiping it locked and unlocked as he sat through the drone of changing channels.

“Oh my, there’s nothing to watch,” his mother commented blithely. It was unusual for their only son to spend Christmas with them, especially without a girlfriend wrapped around his arm. So they settled instead to weather the annual holiday with a fumbling sort of awkwardness. Akira’s father had already retreated to his own devices - whatever _they_ were. Now, all that was left was to spend a few more obligatory hours, and he could be on his merry way.

“It’s a shame what happened to your girlfriend,” she said while her absent gaze was still fixed on the TV. “You better take good care of her. Colds are dangerous this time of year.”

Akira shrugged where he sat in the couch. “She’ll be fine,” he dismissed.

He hadn’t seen Makoto in hours, at least not since he left her puking her guts out in her bathroom earlier that morning. She seemed certainthat she only had a cold or some strain of the flu.

“I’ve been wanting to meet her, you know,” his mother continued, cutting through his idle thoughts. “It’s very rare for you to keep a girl this long.”

Akira would’ve sunk further into the couch if he could. He absolutely dreaded these types of conversations from his parents - this nagging need they have to remind him, despite his youth, to settle down. “Next time you’ll meet Makoto,” he lackadaisically promised. “She was worried about spreading her cold.”

His mother turned momentarily from the TV and smiled. “What a thoughtful girl!”

The praise came easy because, Akira speculated, his mother could already sense his exasperation with her antics. Beloved as he was, being the only child, Akira had grown accustomed to his parents’ otherwise bad habit of raising him with difference. It was only recently that they took interest in his behavior, and it was concerning to say the least.

“How did you two meet again?” his mother persisted, perhaps discontented with his rather surly silence.

“We met while I was working for the library,” he answered with disinterestedness.

On his phone, Akira watched for the thousandth time as his thumb swiped the screen unlocked.

“I see,” his mother calmly replied.

A text popped up - a message to hang out from one of the forgettable flings he had indulged in as of late. Akira promptly ignored it, letting the message go on 'Read' without bothering to offer a conclusive rejection. Staring back at the screen, he could see the blurred outlines of his reflection on his phone. He had been fiddling without really doing anything, and idle conversation was beginning to get to him. The question brought to mind a memory he had been trying to repress, as far back in his mind as he could possibly push it. But the effort was a little too late. Makoto’s startled face flashed before his eyes, and the name she uttered still rang with deafening intensity in his mind: _‘Ren?’_

His teeth almost clamped down on his tongue, forcing him into a tightlipped silence as he rose from the couch.

“Where are you going?” his mother demanded as she frowned through her surprise.

Akira made his way across the room towards the balcony that led out of the apartment. “I’m going to call Makoto,” he answered belatedly. He slid the balcony sliding doors open and forced them shut before his mother could squeeze in another word.

Outside, the white noise of the city fell deafeningly on his ears. The clouds were gray with the dismal afternoon, and the breeze afforded by the residential heights washed over him with stinging coolness. He had paced the short space of the balcony, phone in hand, as he watched the blankness of his phone. Surely, there could be no harm in calling Makoto, neither should it be unusual for a boyfriend to check on his sick girlfriend. So why was he so afraid?

Tired, Akira leaned on the sidings. He eyed the cityscape with aggressive indifference, egging it on to tell him _why,_ exactly, he felt so frightened.

Perhaps it was the frigid Christmas air, but he was shaking. Akira watched as his thumb slowly glided through the necessary prompts. It wasn’t long before Makoto’s name flashed in his contacts, and his thumb tapped the green button. Pressing the phone against his ear, he slouched with his free hand in his jeans’ back pocket and paced once more through the balcony.

“I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message after-…”

Akira quickly disconnected the call and redialed the number.

Again, the endless drone of the ringing made him fidget with impatience.

“I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed…”

He promptly hung up. Again, he leaned over the edge and gazed at the skyline with renewed disdain. 

Something was wrong. Something nagging, like a gnawing weight in his chest _felt_ wrong. Sure enough, things had been rather… uncomfortable ever since that Christmas party in early December. Meeting old friends had sparked a side of Makoto he had never seen before, and there was still the irksome issue of her ‘friend.’

Akira scoffed and threw his head back. He tried _not_ to picture it - to picture _him_ , the ‘friend’ who, oddly enough, looked exactly like him; or some _version_ of him.

Another cool breeze swept by, and Akira could _feel_ his skin pale with the chill. He hadn’t found time to bring up the rather uncomfortable issue with Makoto, especially since _she_ herself had been acting strange. When, exactly, would be the best time?

_‘Makoto, are you using me to replace someone else?’_

The unspoken question echoed in his thoughts and soured the tip of his tongue. It soured _everything,_ even pleasant memories. They had known each other for almost a year, and the more he thought on it, the more her distance and callous indifference during those first few months started to make sense. Who was to say that she loved him? Every look, every touch, and every intimate moment played back in his mind, but all he could think about was the blank expression Makoto always wore, and the once implausible idea that she was in love with someone else suddenly became _too_ plausible.

Giving up on another phone call, he slid his phone into his pocket and returned to the living room.

His mother turned, startled from her trance watching the TV. “Where are you going?” she asked with upraised concern.

Akira traversed through the living room and started to rummage for his jacket and keys by the atrium.

“I’m going to check on Makoto,” he stated plainly, the sternness of his words brooking no follow-up or remonstrance.

The older woman watched as the door slammed shut, biting nervously on her lip with mild worry for her son.

* * *

Riding the subway with Ren, for the first time in a while, gave Makoto’s surroundings a newness that lightened the heaviness in her heart. It was all familiar and strange at once, and she couldn’t help but think that, only a year before, they had regularly commuted from school together, chatting and prattling about their Phantom Thieves’ business with the urgency of hushed whispers.

Not once since getting on the train did Ren let go of her hand. He held onto it tightly, thumbing circles over the inside of her palm as his foot tapped with unspoken nerves. Makoto knew this was a fidgeting habit of his - one that revealed the panic he tried so desperately to hide.

With a sigh, Makoto sidled up closer to Ren and leaned a tired head over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Ren,” she whispered.

Ren, unfazed by her sudden shows of affection, could only look with tenderness at his friend.

“For what?” he asked, laughing at the idea that she was thanking him before they had settled any of her troubles.

Makoto glanced up at him, beaming dewy red eyes at his soft-hearted expression. “I needed someone, and - without knowing how or why - you came,” she answered in soft murmurs. “So, thank you.”

The look she gave him was enough to squeeze his heart, making him wish he could squeeze back her hand in turn and let her know - in every way he could - that he would always be there for her. Yet Ren thought back on the events of the morning and the cold, hard reality awaiting them once the whole situation had blown over. He bit back the urge to smile and utter the words he wished he could say, opting instead to downplay his affections. “It’s no problem,” he replied with a shrug. “Anyone of us would’ve helped you out,” he added, notionally roping in the rest of the former Phantom Thieves as back-up.

To that, Makoto could only laugh. “I guess that’s true.” But she knew better than to take his word for it, and she was more than willing to show just much how she had changed in the year of his absence. Makoto squeezed his hand, wrapping her fingers snugly around his before whispering, “Thank you anyway.”

The two sat in their shared silence, swaying with the rickety motions of the train as light flashed and faded in a flicker through the dark tunnels. Around them, there was a surprising amount of passengers, all absentminded and bored through the mundane task of getting from one place to another.

“What happens next?” Makoto asked suddenly, staring hazily into the empty space before her.

“After what?” Ren looked down at her with a quizzical furl of his brow.

Makoto didn’t answer at first, pursing her lips in a contemplative silence. She sighed again and sidled up closer. “When I… get rid of the baby,” she clarified, swallowing back the ball of nerves caught in the base of her throat, “do you think everything will be okay?”

Ren was even more puzzled than before. “Of course it will, why wouldn’t it be?”

To that, Makoto could only give an ample pout, wrinkling her nose with fears she’d rather not say. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling, like a gut feeling in my stomach, that something - _everything_ will go wrong.”

“Hey,” Ren tenderly chided in low, coaxing tones, “don’t think like that.”

Yet Makoto seemed unconvinced, choosing to say nothing in her muted concern as Ren did his best to lighten the mood. After a while, he too gave out his tired sigh, mulling over the words he’d been wanting to say since she revealed to him the truth.

“Someday,” he started, “you’re going to have a family.” Ren let go of Makoto’s hand just as she looked up at him in surprise. “Not anytime soon, but years from now… _someday_.” He bowed his head low, crossing his ankles to stretch out his long legs as he looked off to the distance and fought hard to stay cool. “You’ll be a great mother and an amazing wife to whoever would be so lucky.” He punctuated the last sentiment with a laugh, throwing his head back in embarrassment as he avoided all possible eye contact. “You’ll be older, with your dream job, your dream house, and the family you’ve always deserved.”

Makoto suppressed a sharp gasp, letting her mouth hang open as she stared back at him dumbfounded.

“Makoto,” Ren resumed, holding onto her hand once more and facing her with renewed intensity, “someday you’re going to be happy with _some_ lucky person, and they'll have a baby with you, but… But that won’t be today, or anytime soon.” He paused, noticing that that his hand trembled in hers. “Until then, I’ll be here for you, and I’ll protect you until that day can come true.”

The train screeched to a halt, and the bodies around them shuffled past to make their hurried exits. Through the overhead intercom, a robotic voice stated plainly the time and place, doling out its usual instructions through the white noise of people flitting to and fro.

In the back of the train car, Makoto leaned in, reaching up to Ren with all the brazenness of her old habits and bull-rushing impulse. Ren’s eyes could only widen, feeling her lips with the soft shudder of surprise. His heart fluttered by the time the subway doors had closed and, relishing in their newfound privacy, returned her gesture with an even deeper kiss.


End file.
